


then we take berlin

by Evax3



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Berlin (City), F/M, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mythology References, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Time Travel, but with lots of pining right from the start, happy ending for all pairings, they're thrown into modern times but with their medieval mindset
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-01-20 17:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 39,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evax3/pseuds/Evax3
Summary: After Petyr Baelish tragically suffocated on a gigot before he was able to poison Jon Arryn, Westeros fought in united strength against the White Walkers and built up a diplomatic relationship with Queen Daenerys in Meereen after the victory.So, the land was at peace, the winter was over and 2 years later Theon, Robb and Arya sat together in Winterfell, bored to fucking death.Fortunately, distraction seemed within reach, as Theon discovered a book in Maester Luwin’s library, maybe solving their problem. Promising the opportunity to travel back in time and experience one of the big battles again, they’d fought in the past.But mixing the ingredients, something went wrong and instead of arriving back on the field of the second Battle of the Dawn, they found themselves in Berlin of the 21st century, still wearing their thick furs and understanding not a single word.Putting their hopes in a certain dark-haired goldsmith from California, who kindly takes them in, they tried their best to somehow find their way back home and find a lot more in the process.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 192
Kudos: 192





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is really so much fun to write!! Especially, because we meet the characters in a state like at the beginning of ACoK (season 2). They've all experienced war, and that has shaped them, but Arya has never trained with the faceless, Theon has never met Ramsay and Robb ... well, he's still alive! :D 
> 
> And there won't be any proper flashbacks, but here and there, there will be a few references to events of the books/series, so be warned, there will be spoilers! <3
> 
> Title is from the song [First We Take Manhattan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOBULsEUwn8) by Joe Cocker (originally by Leonard Cohen).

**ARYA**

A hiss passed her ear, cutting through the air like a knife, followed by another arrow hitting the mark right on the button.

And then Theon turned around, slowly, his typical grin on his face and his arms stretched out, like he was waiting for the applause of his nonexistent audience. Arya gave him a look, half pitiful, half annoyed.

“After you’ve killed a giant with a single shot, one would think you'd be less proud to hit the 20th arrow into a non-moving target.”

But he wasn’t, less proud though. He just shrugged his shoulders, and replied, “practice makes perfect,” reaching for another arrow from his quiver.

“You're just old and lazy,” she teased him. Jumping up from her seat, she took her place to his next, and pulled the Arakh out of the loop on her belt. It was smaller than an ordinary, handier, a gift from her father after his last visit across the Narrow Sea.

And then she threw it with a flick of her wrist and like a boomerang it shot past Theon's arrows, severed them all in the middle, so the feathered ends fell to the ground, coming back to her, for Arya to easily grab it mid-air.

“See?” she said, half a smile on her lips, reattaching the blade to her belt, “a great warrior can fight with any weapon. But if _you_ don't have a bow, you're fucked.” (so, she knew, of course, that this wasn't completely true, he did just fine with the swords as well, but that wasn’t the point.) “you're a good archer, but so you already were at the age of twelve. It's nothing _special_ anymore.”

Regarding the look on his face, Arya realized, with a certain satisfaction, that she’d hit a nerve. Theon’s smirk became a tad thinner, his eyebrows drawn together. He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms in front of his chest, his posture a mixture of being offended and challenging at the same time. “I bet I’d still kill more wights with my arrows than you do with any of your fifty different weapons.”

She tried to act like she didn't care, looked away, twisted her dagger between her fingertips, but actually just to dodge his smug look. She hated, when he brought that up, and he damn well knew it.

The last time, they’d fought about this topic, it had ended with Theon being banished from the meals for two whole days, until he’d understood what it meant to be grown up and not to start a fist fight with a little girl, according to her father.

She’d hated him even more than Theon back then. At least _he_ took her for an equal.

But he hadn't learned his lesson, and neither had she. So, annoying to no end, and even more than his stupid show-offs, he kept bringing this up, every fucking time she criticized him, (yes, he’d done better in the damn battle than she had, but it been an entire summer ago. She’d trained a lot since then, nobody in Winterfell was as good at close combat as she was by now). Gods, how she was craving to prove it to him.

She looked up. “Too bad we can't check.”

“Yeah,” Theon smirked, “too bad.”

He took another arrow, stretched the string, shot and, of course, hit the target again. Arya felt as if with every further shot, another piece of her was dying of boredom.

“And what do you think, Stark? If we got another chance, who’d this time be the hero of the long night? Me or this little brat?”

He got no reply.

“Stark?” He turned around. “Robb?”

“Huh?”

Looking up from the sword he’d been grinding monotonously with a stone during the last hour, he was now frowning at Theon somewhat confused.

“Did you even listen?” Arya said with a yawn, leaning back against the tree behind her.

“Uh, no, sorry.” He scratched his neck and then stretched out. “But if I had to guess, I'd say it was _again_ about who’d kill more wights.”

“And?” Theon wiggled his brows.

Robb groaned. “The fuck does it matter? Their all gone, aren’t they?”

Arya watched him closely. His forehead wrinkled, his body tense, like he had something in his neck, not strong and proud as usual, now contrite was the right word to describe his appearance. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, not moving, no sigh of emotion flicked over her face.

“Nothing,” he snapped back, and this reaction was even more unusual for Robb, “I just don't know why you keep talking about it. The war is over, no new war in sight.” He stood up and took the sword from his lap. “No reason to always bring it up again.”

With his jaw clenched, he lifted the sword over his head like a spear and threw it onto the target, dividing it in two halves together with Theon's arrows.

For few seconds, they just stared at him. Then Theon burst out laughing. “_All right_, point taken. We stop talking about it.”

But Robb just shook his head and sat back down. Obvious, that his behavior had nothing to do with their previous conversation.

Though Theon was not so fast a thinker, but finally, as his and Robb’s eyes met again, something in his expression changed. Arya saw how some kind of sign language took place between them, like they’d already done back as they were kids. By now, she’d given up on being annoyed about it.

And then Robb buried his face in his hands. “I’m about to leave Winterfell in a few days and go to the capital.”

“What?”

They’d said it in unison, so Theon's voice much more outraged than Arya’s, who was just simply surprised.

“I'm supposed to get married,” Robb added, his voice miserable and Theon looked as if someone had just slammed a knife into his back. Pale, shocked, one of those rare moments in which even the smile had disappeared from his face.

“Who?” he breathed.

“The King's Daughter.”

A bitter laugh came out of his mouth, no joy, rather despair, but still. “Drowned god, she’s still a child, isn’t she?”

She was only about a year younger than Arya, but she kept the comment to herself.

“Robert seemed a little upset the marriage with Sansa didn't take place. Maybe this is kind of a compromise?”

Now she couldn't help herself. “And now _you_ pay the price for father not marrying her to that monster? Does mother agree with that?”

Robb cracked his knuckles. “She isn’t happy about it, but father was my age when the two got married. Myrcella is a good match tough,” he shrugged and looked back at Theon, almost pleading, obviously desperate. Arya had to look away.

It was a rare feeling, unfamiliar, eerie and caught her off guard every time it suddenly broke out inside her. Some might call it jealous, for someone to look at her the same way Theon now looked at Robb. Like it would destroy him if they were separated. Like he actually _needed_ him to survive. It was disturbing, and yet a small part of her longed for it, whether she wanted it or not.

There’d been this one moment, just before the battle, when she’d sneaked around the castle, not finding peace wherever she went, while all the others had sought comfort in the arms of their loved ones. Somehow, she had ended in the forge and there he’d been standing. Looking the way, she’d always imagined the king had looked like, before she knew what an old fatso he was, even though he still swung his hammer in battle like no other.

With a sword in his hand, this boy looked almost a man grown, working in front of the fire, the hammer like part of his arm. He looked somehow dangerous, but she liked that. When their eyes met, his gaze had pierced through her like a dagger, so intense, blue eyes and thick black hair. None of them had said a word, but there she had felt it for the first time, not jealous, and yet it was a similar feeling, starting low in her belly. Unsettling.

Shortly thereafter they heard someone blow the horn, and then the soldiers had stormed into the forge. She hadn't seen him again afterwards, maybe he’d fallen in the battle.

Breaking away from her daydream, she looked back at her brother. So, that was what was waiting for them in Winterfell. To be married, to some foreign princes and princesses.

But there had to be another solution. And Arya felt the anger rising in her guts, about those damn Lannisters, rotting in their verminous capital and only having to snap one finger to make the whole world around them move.

And somewhat on Sansa, for staying in Highgarden, drinking Dornish wine with her sister-in-law and celebrated meaningless feasts, while Renly and Loras were enjoying themselves elsewhere. Of course, she’d rather have chopped off a hand than let Sansa marry that creep Joffrey, but _this_, it didn't seem right either. Robb deserved to be happy, but if he didn't go, would she be next?

“And you've already agreed to this whole thing?” Theon broke the silence.

“Do I have a choice?” Robb sounded like he had none. “What I’d give for fighting these wights again instead. If only we could turn back time, he?” He looked back at Theon, forcing himself to show little of a smile.

Yeah, if only. It’d solve more than one problem; there Arya was sure. Robb wouldn't have to marry, she and Theon would finally be able to end their ongoing competition, and, above all, she could also go to the blacksmith's a little earlier this time, visit those blue eyes again, maybe even asking for his name.

If only.


	2. Chapter 2

**ROBB**

Winterfell was a quiet place these days. It had never been crowded, but now it felt almost deserted. Too many had died in the big battle against the dead, and many of the servants were now among the nearby castles, helping with the reconstruction.

Some would call it peaceful. Under other circumstances, Robb might even enjoy it.

He looked up from his plate and watched Arya poking around in her meat. Though it was no secret that she hated it. Not the meat, but the life in Winterfell, the way it was now. Even if the north was stuck in her bones, it was too dreary for her wild mind.

And now with their father and Bran visiting Jon at the Wall, Sansa down in the Reach, and their mother’s hands full with Rickon, there was little to do in order to kill time.

Really, with different circumstances, Robb would have enjoyed it.

But the forthcoming wedding gnawed on him, did not let him come to rest. And Theon was no help either. Seemed to be literally avoiding him since their conversation on the archery range. For two days he’d barely seen him, which only made Robb's mood even gloomier.

Some nights, when sleep had been no way in sight and Robb had been lying in his bed with his eyes wide awake, he’d allowed himself to think, that he was the reason, Theon still stayed in Winterfell. That it was only for him, he didn’t sail back to the Iron island to serve under his sister, to take a salt wife or two and or to set off on his own ship to explore the world.

What was supposed to happen, now that Robb himself would leave his home?

He knew it was selfish, and shame a constant companion at these thoughts, but he wanted Theon to stay with him, to ride with him to the capital. Even if his place was actually somewhere else. Deep down inside him, Robb knew this was not gonna happen.

Reflecting his thoughts, Grey Wind gave a low whine under the table, looking up at him from his big head resting near Robb’s feet. He scratched him behind his ears, comforting the dog, but more so to calm his own desperate thoughts. If only they had more time.

Then suddenly the gate opened, and Theon himself entered the hall, wild expression in his eyes, his hair tousled, heading straight for their table.

“Get up, I got to show you something,” he said quietly, scurrying his eyes briefly to Catelyn, who was about to admonish Rickon for his eating manners again.

Arya and Robb exchanged a brief look, but then they both got up without further questions, at that Grey Wind snorted.

“Yeah, you too,” Theon said, then he turned to Robb, “we need him to stand guard.”

Robb crocked an eyebrow at him, but Theon had already turned on his heels, heading out of the hall, with Robb and Arya right behind him.

They crossed the bridge, walking directly towards Theon’s chambers in the Guest House. Robb suspected that he’d chosen this intentionally, further away from the kitchen and the bedchambers of his parents.

When they reached his door he paused, looked over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips, then they all entered the room, but shocked Robb suddenly stopped in his tracks.

There in front of them, right on the table next to Theon’s bed, strange things were stocked, Robb hadn’t seen before, didn't know much about and yet they let his neck hair stand on end. An hourglass surrounded by several glittering stones, a dusty book wide open, a steaming cauldron from which strange scents rose filling the room with smoke. Next to it a few herbs and additionally a sharp knife.

Arya spoke out what he thought, “what in the seven hells is this?”

“This,” Theon smiled even brighter, pushing his hands in his hips, “is the solution to our problem.”

Robb's eyes grew wide, as he was about to protest, but Theon interrupted him, raising a hand to appease.

“First, hear me out,” he said took a step back, pointing at the table. “It took me a lot of time and effort to get all this stuff and we don't have much time before Luwin will realize that I’d taken most of it from his supplies, so listen.

It's all ready, all we have to do is shake some of the sand here,” he shook the glass, “and put a drop of blood from each of us here in the cauldron, and then we can –”

“Did you just say blood?” Robb interrupted him, for Theon to roll his eyes.

“Yes, blood. Why ever everything that got something to do with all this magic stuff, has something to do with blood as well. Are you letting me finish now?

So, the plan is to go back to the battle of dawn and change the future.”

His smirk widened, neither Robb nor Arya said anything in return. Theon’s gaze fall on Robb and his look softened.

“This is our chance to prevent your upcoming wedding. We go back there, fight like we did last time, and just right when King Robert is about to storm into the battlefield, I’ll shot an arrow into his back.”

“You do what?” Arya gasped.

“Oh, come on, he is a lousy king anyway. And with all the chaos, nobody's gonna know it was me anyway. Afterwards they’ll make Jon king for killing the horned leader, and then he can go to King's Landing and marry the Lannister brat himself.” Theon took another step towards Robb. “Then you're free. Maybe they'll make _you_ Lord Commander instead, we could go to the Night's Watch together, no forced weddings, no capital, what do you say?”

That was the most stupid plan, Robb had ever heard and yet a big grin spread across his face, no chance to hide. Because Theon wanted to stay with him. He'd even go to the Wall with him, renounce women and children forever. His heart made a little jump by this thought.

“_This_ is the most stupid plan I’ve ever heard,” Arya said next to him and Robb's smile got a little smaller. “You want to kill the king, are you mad?”

“Don't have to be. I'm open to suggestions. But at least it gives us a little more time.”

Theon seemed as desperate as Robb had felt a few minutes ago, and Arya's facial expression also changed by that. As if a thought had occurred to her, a strange glow in her eyes, one that Robb hadn't seen there in a long time.

She walked past them and picked up the hourglass. “How much of it do we need?”

Theon bit his lip. “Unfortunately, that's not exactly written there.” He nodded towards the open book. “But probably not that much. We only want to go back one summer, don’t we? Maybe a pinch?”

“Sounds god.”

She took the knife, pulled it once through the palm of her hand and held the dripping wound over the kettle. Blood fell into the bubbling liquid and both Robb and Theon held their breath, waiting tense. But nothing happened.

Exhaling once deeply, Theon let his shoulders sink, shook his head and then stepped beside her. He took the knife from Arya’s hand, cut his thumb and then turned to Robb. Flicking the blade with his wrist so that the handle was now pointed at Robb. Theon raised a brow, asking a silent question like he’d done so many times before. _Are you in?_ And with a sigh Robb stepped beside him and took the knife.

Because he’d follow him anywhere. Even if that meant returning to that night of horror and death.

They all stared spellbound as the red stripes slowly mixed with the brown substance. The smell driving tears into Robb's eyes, but he kept watching, noticing too late that Arya had taken the glass to break it at the edge of the kettle.

“WHAT are you doing?” Theon screamed, driving around in shock, glass and sand already mixed with the other ingredients, the kettle dangerously shaking and boiling.

“You said you don't know exactly how much has to go in there! So, I was just guessing.”

“Yes, but no glass!”

Her answer went in the noise, which erupted as the cauldron exploded.

Forcing Robb to fall backwards onto the ground, the clang of glass and shattering wood around him, biting smoke in his nose and the world around him shrouded in darkness. Pitch black.

His lungs filled with sour smoke; Robb coughed violently. His eyes still pressed shut, although light was slowly forming in front of his eyelids again after a few seconds of disorientation. He sat up slowly, the ground under his hands strangely rough. Almost stony. Probably the walls had been broken by the impact.

And finally, he managed to open his eyes, his vision cleared, but a choked scream came out of his half-opened mouth as he realized what was ahead of him.

Right there, not ten steps away, stood a huge yellow dragon, its jaws wide open.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry, but Gendry swears a lot ...

**GENDRY**

Really, if you had to break it down to the bottom, the meaning of life, as some might call it, everything was just about money.

By now, when people told him that there was more to life than that, that it was actually about self-determination or to be independent and free, some naive fools even might say to find your one true love or something similar, he just shook his head and walked away.

Seriously, those people, they didn't understand the fucking game.

It had been about money, when his boss had fired three of his colleagues a few weeks ago, because not enough orders had come in beforehand. So, Gendry, the only employee left, had to work overtime almost every day, of course not paid, but obviously complaining didn’t make sense either. Because they couldn't change it. That's how the market works. Money again. Just like always.

Though, he really loved his job, had come all the way from California to Berlin to learn from the best. And David Seewert wasn't exactly a bad boss, perhaps he made too many of those stupid jokes Gendry never gets, but maybe that was mostly due to his still very bad German.

Actually, he treated him pretty fair and paid appropriately, though if he could. It were the customers who often stood in their way. Refusing to pay that much, when fashion boutiques offered pretty rings and bracelets for less than a quarter of the money they demanded. By now, Gendry had given up on being upset about it.

It was also the money that was responsible for him still living in a shabby two room apartment that cost almost as much as a homestead, but his renter refused to go down with the price, responding to his request for abatement just simply with, “then go find yourself something cheaper.”

As if that were possible.

And the money again two hours earlier, when his old VW Golf had broken down, the diagnosis an engine failure and the garage demanding 2000 euros for the repair. Not only could he buy himself a fucking new car for that, but also did he just got enough money to buy a damn ticket for the tram to get a ride home.

Therefore, he was now standing at Alexander Platz, surrounded by loud, annoying people, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his parka, _sulking_, while his car was left behind at the next scrap yard, and from the looks of it, he wouldn't get it back anytime soon.

All because of the fucking money.

With a loud ringing the tram finally came running, tearing him from his thoughts, to take him back home to Neukölln. It was overcrowded as always, and Gendry regretted his decision not to take the subway. But then suddenly the woman next to him started to scream.

_“Um Himmels willen, da sitzt ja ein Mädchen auf dem Dach!” _

He didn't understand a single word, this language was just too fucking complicated for him to learn, but his gaze followed her outstretched finger and his eyes became wide.

Up there, on the roof, directly above the driver's cabin, stood a young woman, dressed in brown leather and something like a fur coat, looking as if she had just sprung from one of those bad medieval series everyone seemed to watch. Her gaze flicked over the crowd, which stared at her with open mouths.

How the fuck did she get up there?

She looked so out of place, but not scared, more confused if anything. And Gendry’s eyes clung to her, studying every feature, just the way he did when working on a new creation.

His eyes narrowed while he bit his bottom lip, searching for a clue on how she managed to climb up. But when she fully turned in his direction, his eyes stopped.

And just one word filled his whole mind.

Fucking beautiful.

Slim yet strong, really the shape was so unique, seemingly perfect from every angle, flawless. Beautiful. How else should one describe it? And yet he didn't quite understand, had never seen anything alike before, actually wanted to get closer, but didn't want to be drawn into this strange spectacle either. His fingertips were tingling, maybe this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

_Keep your head low but your ears open_, his mother's voice popped up in his head. But he had to ask her.

Because where the hell did a girl who’d probably just ran away from some medieval festival get such a remarkable dagger?

The tram driver now also got out, standing in the middle of the gawping crowd, yelling instructions at her she apparently understood as little as Gendry. Maybe he was angry that he couldn't finish his route in time, for everyone to complain about the unpunctuality of the public transport system again. Like most people didn't have anything else to worry about. (Well, some really didn't.)

But the woman didn't seem to care about any of this, investigating her surroundings instead, and for a second Gendry thought she was about to jump down from the roof, the distance being nearly 10 feet, but then her eyes meeting his.

And she paused.

Her look pierced him like needles, and he took a step back, too intense to hold, his back hitting against the poster-covered glass pane of the tram shelter. Feeling almost trapped under her gaze.

And then, without hesitating another second, she _actually_ jumped, landing directly in front of him on the ground. Like a fucking monkey (or more like a cat). The people around them amazed, some even clapped their hands, moaning with approval, but she paid them no attention.

Instead, she got up, took two quick steps directly towards him and grabbed him by his jacket with both fists.

_“What happened here? How did we get here and where is Robb?” _she growled.

He didn't understand a word. “What the f –”

Trying to take a step to the side, he did his best to free himself from this madwoman, but she followed him immediately.

Though, whatever language it was she spoke, he’d never heard it before. Maybe something Eastern European? In his ears it sounded completely strange. And so probably for most other viewers, who looked at him half amused and half pitied, by the harsh way she pulled on his clothes.

Most of them, however, looked just relieved they could finally continue their ride, only turned around shortly for a last glance at them, when they finally got on the tram, which then started moving again. Without Gendry.

He really should have taken the subway.

Then he turned his attention back to the woman, who on closer inspection was more of a girl, about 16 maybe, still shaking him, talking insistently. He really had enough of it.

“Easy there, calm down.” Grabbing her by the arms, albeit perhaps somewhat roughly, he pushed her away.

Her gaze changed; eyes offended.

“Let go of my damn jacket, okay?”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“I'm sorry I stared at you,” he tried to talk as slowly as possible, feeling extremely stupid about it, “but I didn't stare at _you_. I stared at your dagger.”

He pointed at it and looking up again, he noticed that she grinned.

“May I see it?” he asked, knowing that it was best to stay away from her, but nodding anyway in the direction of her belt and then showing her his palm.

She gave it to him without hesitation. 

And surprised he realized that the cold metal in his hand was far lighter than he'd expected. Definitely steel and yet it had such little weight. The handle elegantly decorated with countless ornaments and the blade so sharp, it must have taken an incredible amount of work to manufacture something like this. Truly a masterpiece of smithery. His first impression had not deceived him.

“That's something very special you got there,” he said, while he gave it back to her, well knowing that she didn't understand him at all. He then raised his hand goodbye and turned to go, but was just pulled back, as she grabbed his arm again.

“All right, that's ENOUGH,” he snapped, now trying desperately to tear himself away from her. But fuck, she was stronger than she looked like. “Come on. Let – go!”

_“You have to help me find my brother!”_

“I – don't – understand – you!”

He pulled his arm back the same moment she finally let go of his jacket. The momentum far too much, he then stumbled back and lost his balance, landing on his ass somewhat painful (god, how he _hated_ this fucking day).

Of course no one came to help him up. The people around him just shook their heads, rolling their eyes, like he was one of those crazy weirdoes or a drunk tourist who came by in droves. As he looked up at the girl, he realized to his greater annoyance, that she was _giggling_. 

Though, he had to admit that the answer that came to his mind was more than just rude, but then something held him back.

A strange noise, the same foreign language as hers and with an odd feeling in his stomach he turned his head.

_“Arya! ARYA! Over here!”_

Struggling to come back on his feet, Gendry saw with horror a red-haired man running straight at them, wearing the same weird clothes, a brown fur cloak that blew wildly behind him, almost making him look like a bat. The red curls stood wildly off his head, but that wasn't what worried Gendry the most.

It was the long sword he had drawn, pointed directly at them and if he had to take a guess, he'd say that this was not a toy weapon either.

_Awesome_. So now, there were two of them.


	4. Chapter 4

**ARYA**

They were sitting in kind of tavern, at least that was the next thing Arya knew that equaled this establishment. Many people in the strangest clothes and shapes sat near them on round tables. Women with all possible colors of hair, men with strange coats and clothes that often looked as if they’d been cut off by mistake. And most of them with a small black box in their hands, staring at it almost hypnotized, and glasses with a strange brown liquid in front of them.

It'd taken a while to convince the blacksmith that Robb had no intention of impaling him with his sword, and yet he was reluctant to come with them. Several times he’d turned to leave, whensoever Arya had grabbed him firmly by the arm, holding him back. Because he was the only thing that connected them to their home and he seemed to know this place, maybe even lived here. At least he was familiar with it, no matter how strange Arya thought it was.

Other reasons why she wanted to keep him Arya tried to ignore.

And after several complaints on his part, which they hadn’t understood, since he obviously didn’t speak the common tongue, he’d finally gave in or more so gave up and brought them to this tavern. Talking now to the innkeeper, but turning around frequently, only to notice that Arya was still watching him.

“This is a disaster,” Robb grumbled from opposite the table, his gaze flicking from left to right, behind him over his shoulder and then back to her, his right hand under the table still clutched tight around his sword. “Something went _completely_ wrong and now we’re not only in another time but also in another country.”

He drove his hand through his red curls again, which were now standing completely messed up in all directions from his head.

“A country where nobody speaks our language, where people sit in _monstrous_ carriages WITHOUT HORSES, fucking frozen dragons standing around _everywhere_ and the castles are so high, they kiss the damn clouds. And why are all these strings stretched all over the air? And then these people keep _smiling_ at us all the time, as if everyone knew a joke that only _we_ don't understand. And _of course_ there’s also HIM!” Robb pointed with an outstretched hand to the blacksmith, who slowly moved back to them with three glasses of this brown liquid.

“You know who that is, don't you?”

Arya turned to him all at once. “What?”

Robb frowned, looking at her with doubt. “Isn't that why you're grabbing his arm whenever he’s about to leave?”

She swallowed hard, starting to examining her fingers, unsure how she should explain from where _exactly_ she knew the guy.

“That's fucking king Robert. I knew it from the first moment I saw him, probably twenty years younger, but still,” Robb whispered, leaning over the table towards her. “Don't you recognize him? The black hair, the blue eyes?”

She looked up, but Robb had already turned away again, his gaze outside and checking the street. “And where by all gods is Theon? Do you think something happened to him?”

He didn't wait for her answer. Instead sighed again, took the hand from his sword and pressed both palms to his temples, elbows on the table, groaning.

Arya almost felt sorry for her brother, that with everything going on right now, them being in this completely strange place, where it was so damn loud, she could barely hear her own thoughts and where it smelled of things Arya couldn't even imagine, _Theon Greyjoy_ was actually his biggest concern.

Then the blacksmith had reached their table, putting each a glass in front of them. He gave Robb a look, slightly irritated and somehow pitiful, as he finally sat down.

The liquid in the glass seemed to be warm, covered by a white foam, it steamed. Arya sniffed at it, but the smell was also little familiar to her. She’d seen the other guests drinking from their glasses, so she led it to her mouth as well, as Robb grabbed her by the wrist. Some of the liquid was spilled, leaving a small stain on the dark wooden table.

“What by the God of seven are you doing? It could be poisoned.”

She frowned, “why would it be poisoned?” but put it down, nevertheless.

“Did you forget why we’re here?” His voice lowered, eyes flicking briefly to the blacksmith, “we wanted to, you know …” he nodded back in his direction, “with an arrow, remember?”

Arya rolled her eyes, (she was on the brink of dissolving the truth about this guy) then turned to the blacksmith, crossed her arms in front of her chest and watched him sternly. “You drink first.”

_“Huh?”_ He looked up from the small box, she hadn’t noticed he got out, probably from a pocket of his strange coat, and only now did Arya saw in shock, that there were moving pictures to be seen on it. Her eyes widening. She tried to get a better look at the box, was he a sorcerer? Were they surrounded by magicians? She looked around in a hurry, but no one seemed to pay much attention to them. Except for a few people who kept giving them amused looks, but nothing conspicuous. She looked back at the box. Had it been just her imagination?

_“Sorry, I know it’s rude to stare at this thing all the time,”_ he said, put it away and took a sip from his glass._“Just looked like you had a family thing to settle or something.”_

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She'd take care of that weird thing later, whatever it was. For now her mission was to convince Robb, that the blacksmith was on their side or at least not a threat. So she turned to her brother, pointed at the blacksmiths's glass and raised a brow, “see?”

He still looked doubtful. “Maybe he only poisoned ours?” Robb said under his breath.

“Fine,” Arya replied with a groan, switched the blacksmith's glass with her own, and then she took a deep gulp.

_“Hey!”_ he protested, but she didn’t mind him, too focused on the drink, which was like nothing she had ever tasted before. It was _delicious_. Like the milk of the poppy only with a slightly bitter aftertaste. The consistency creamy, the foam stuck to her upper lip as she put the empty glass back on the table with a loud clang and a pleased sigh.

_“All right, seems someone was probably thirsty,”_ the blacksmith chuckled and then took another sip himself, now from hers, put the glass down, albeit not quite as eager as Arya, and then placed his arms on the table, fingers crossed. He tapped them together. _“So, how do we go on … okay, I know.”_

He sat back and straightened his chest. _“My name - is Gendry.” _He placed his hand above his heart _“Gen-dry.”_

“Gendry” Arya repeated. She liked the way it sounded, how the syllables rolled over her lips.

“Gendry? What’s that supposed to mean?” Robb frowned.

“I think that's his name.”

“His name? Why isn't his name Robert?”

_Because he's not King Robert_, she wanted to say, but still not ready to reveal to her brother that she was probably the reason, they were in this damn misery. Because then she’d also have to admit, that she hadn't thought of the battle of the dead as intended, but of this specific blacksmith, when she’d smashed the hourglass against the cauldron.

She turned back to Gendry instead and did the same thing he did, laid a hand on her heart. “Arya” she said then pointing at Robb. “Robb,” she added.

_“Arya,”_ said Gendry, and the way her name rang in his voice she liked even more than his, when she'd said it. _“Has a nice ring to it.”_ Then he turned to Robb, _“so, Rob, is it short for Robert?”_

“Did he just say _Robert_?”

By that, she finally snapped. “He’s not king Robert!” Arya yelled frustrated and then slapped a hand over her mouth.

Robb looked back at her, eyes narrowed, “how do you know that?”

She was about to answer him, when suddenly she felt a tickle in her fingers, quickly spreading over her whole hand. Not yet very strong but running quickly through her whole body. As if struck by a bolt of lightning, her whole skin began to tingle.

And then her heartbeat accelerated, and her pulse began to race. It became harder to breathe, she blinked several times, but the feeling became worse and worse as her chest raised and lowered heavily.

Panic spread inside her and with eyes wide open she stared at Robb, then at the blacksmith and then back at the empty glass right in front of her. _Shit_.

“What's going on?” Robb asked, his voice harsh and worried, immediately noticing that something was wrong.

But Arya was mute with fear, her heart about to burst inside her chest, just able to say only one word.

“Poison,” she rasped.

He fucking drugged her, the bastard.


	5. Chapter 5

**THEON**

He was drowning. His eyes still closed and yet he recognized the substance around him directly as he regained consciousness. Thicker than air but softer than earth. Gliding through his fingers like silk, making his hair dancing in a slow waltz around his face.

He was dead. That thing was certain. Died in a reckless attempt to save what had never really been his. Now under the mercy of the God of his ancestors.

He felt a sting in his chest when the full implications of the circumstances took hold. He was here, drifting between the dark waves of the deep sea, in a place where Robb would never reach him. Never touch him again. Never been able to touch him _finally_ in the way Theon longed for throughout all the times of his life he could remember.

He had failed. What a fool he’d been. For Robb was now with the gods far beyond the wall and he was here. Alone.

Pulled further and further downwards. Surrounded by a gentle brawl, almost peaceful, he let himself drift. Thinking that he imagined the grounds of the drowned God to be harder, stormier. More like the coasts of Pyke.

But what did he know, he’d been a kraken among wolves, and yet this was the place he was sent to for his final rest. Eternity. He’d always believed at the latest here they would finally be together.

And then something awoke in his chest. Whatever it was, perhaps the last spirit of life still attached to him, he opened his eyes and mouth and gasped for air. But cold dirty water filled his lungs, he rowed with his arms, his head stretched up, he saw light breaking between the waves. But it was too far away, and his thick fur coat pulled him further down.

_You have to get rid of it_, said a voice in his head. _You’re a kraken and a kraken wears no fur._

His heart pounded wildly, the invisible rope around his neck became tighter and tighter. Why he had to fight like this? He was already dead, wasn't he? But probably this was the last challenge he had to face. To show his God that he could free himself. Cutting all connections from his past.

With insecure hands he loosened the brooch from his chest, the Direwolf of House of Stark. The one Lord Eddard had pinned to his chest at the feast after the long battle.

_I no longer need you as a ward, but as a son I’d greet you at my table whenever you wish._

Theon remembered the pride he had felt at that moment, the relief, recognizing that it were these words he had longed for. Never possible to admit this out loud and yet. Robb's look across the hall at the big table had been so warm and so full of hope. As if his father's words had opened a door, a door that could take them to something new, if they just waited a little longer.

But maybe Theon had imagined it all. Though, it didn't matter anymore. Robb was gone and he had to move on. Leaving behind what had never been more than a childish dream.

The fur sank into the depth while Theon drove upwards. Now light as a fish, after the heavy weight had fallen from his shoulders, the last air in his body pulled on him like a rope and his chest lifted violently as he broke through the surface. His head in his neck, eyes wide open. Breathing.

He tried to see what was around him and finally saw the shore not far away.

Making his way through the water, his arms and legs moved all by themselves. Not having to think about how. He had learned swimming long before he knew that his limbs were actually meant for walking.

It didn't take long until his feet bumped against something, the ground muddy and overgrown with grass and algae. So strange, so different from the rocky coasts of his homeland.

Breathing heavily, he collapsed on the wet grass, coughing, but relieved, nevertheless. He had passed the task. _What is dead may never die but rises again harder and stronger_. And all gods be damned, he fucking did.

Quick steps were approaching, rustling in the trees around him and strange voices slowly getting louder. He blinked several times, the water of the sea still numbed his ears, burning in his eyes as he finally opened them and saw three shadowy figures running towards him.

“_Ist er verletzt? Hast du gesehen wo der her kam?“_

“_Hey du, geht’s dir gut?“_

Theon tried to sit up, his vision now almost clear again, he shook the water out of his hair and out of his ears, but then his heart dived. Because there directly in front of him he stood, the Almighty, with wild grey hair and a thick beard, the skin tanned, almost leathery and … completely starkers.

Two other people were next to him. Neither of them with a single piece of clothing on their bodies. A middle-aged man with blond long curls and a young woman with red hair next to him. By that, Theon had to smirk (red-haired, he liked them best).

He looked back to the drowned God and to his surprise not everything about him was as omnipotent as Theon had imagined. His cock was fucking _tiny_. Theon frowned, like it was an open insult to his family.

But the God didn't seem to mind his gaze. All three knelt before him on the ground and watched him with concern.

_“Bist du sicher, dass wir keinen Krankenwagen rufen sollen?“_ The blond man asked, but the drowned God shook his head.

And only then did Theon realize that he didn't understand their language. It didn't even sound familiar; nothing in common with the harsh sounds of his homeland.

He clenched his jaw. So, it wasn't enough for him to leave the fur behind. Apparently only a gesture to show that he was worth staying among them. To set foot on their sacred ground. Though he was Ironborn, his damn blood was salt and iron, but he’d given up the sea for the cold winds of the north. He was sure that the God knew where Theon had left his heart. And this was his punishment. An outsider for eternity.

_“Ich glaube er spricht nicht unsere Sprache,”_ the red-haired women said, leaning towards him, her beautiful round breasts glittered in the sun, the cold wind caused her nipples to stand like two small rosy buds.

Maybe those three were here to greet him in his new environment? Maybe _she_ was his welcome gift?

_“Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt?” _

Theon liked her voice now far better, still strange but no longer as faltering, softer, with more flow to it, more like the sea. Blushed slightly, as Theon's lips formed into a smirk. And flinched back, as Theon's gaze wandered down her body, covering her naked breasts with one arm.

Shy, then. He actually liked them better when they knew what they wanted. But that shouldn't be a problem either. He gave her his most charming smile; she’d know soon enough how lucky she was to be able to call him her lover.

They all got up again and the drowned God offered him a hand, which Theon took, pleased to see, that it was strong and rough and at least one thing that suited his imagination.

He followed them through the trees, his gaze directed mainly at the ass of the beautiful red head, who walked in front of him and admittedly no longer looked shy but slightly annoyed. That was only right with him, would make things perhaps even more interesting later on.

They now walked onto a meadow, more people, men and women were lying around here. Some in the grass, some on blankets, still all naked. It seemed like this was how you wandered in the land of the gods. Naked, like you were born. Theon could get used to it.

But he felt the unpleasant looks of the people resting on him as they made their way towards a shady tree near the river. As if they felt the stranger in their midst. Theon didn't want to give them any more reason to distrust him, opened the laces of his wet shirt and pulled it over his head, the moment they’d stopped, and his three companions had sat down on the ground.

The woman's gaze softened, her thick black eyelashes covering her eyes, but Theon knew she was looking at his well-trained chest, his abs and the body steeled by fighting and war.

Even the drowned God and the blonde one raised an eyebrow. Their bodies were no comparison to his and they also seemed to carry less scars as he did. None, to be exact. They were almost pure. Maybe they faded over time? The farther away life was, the farther away the memories of it were.

Theon tried to repress those memories. Instead he opened his breeches and lay down, now completely naked himself, next to the woman in the grass.

She still seemed indecisive and he, too, was a little insecure. Should they do the act right here in front of all those people? While their God watched them? Perhaps another task?

He took a deep breath once and then moved a bit closer to her. He _was_ Ironbron, he had to remember himself, _and we take what we want_. So, he’d prove to his God that he had not to regret offering him his most beautiful fruit.

But then she screamed loudly, as suddenly something sharp hit the tree directly between them. And Theon backed away with a hiss, staring in shock at the pointed dagger, now buried deep in the dark wood.

He leaned closer and slowly realization reached him. Because he knew this dagger. Hastily he turned around and then his breath skipped as he saw him.

Cursed he was and would be chased forever by his unrequited desire.

Theon stretched his chin towards the ghost that possessed his soul and met those blue eyes, staring at him from the other side of the river through narrow slits.

And if looks could kill, now he’d die a second death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my goodness, writing this chapter was so much fun!! Theon is sometimes just so full of himself, he doesn't see the obvious, even if it's held right in front of his nose ...  
So, I know nudist beaches and communes are not as popular in Berlin as they used to be in the last century, but there are still a few, and I thought there might be no better place for Theon to dive in the new world than in one like this!


	6. Chapter 6

**ROBB**

_A little earlier_

One thing was certain. He was definitely on the verge of losing his mind.

Shortly after he’d noticed that something was wrong with Arya, he’d snapped. Had grabbed the younger king Robert by the collar and pulled him to his chest, yelling at him, but of course the guy hadn't understood a single word. (And of course, he had to keep reminding himself, this wasn't really the king, like he’d thought. His name was Gendry and not Robert, no matter how his sister knew that).

The other guests had also jumped up from their seats, shocked, confused words in all kinds of languages thrown at him, but Robb had paid no heed to them. Then Arya had run outside, and he right after her.

At first, he’d thought _Gendry_ wouldn’t follow them, but he joined them shortly afterwards, giving her again something to drink. Water this time. But not in a jug and not in a barrel, but in a transparent jar, which made it possible to see the liquid moving inside.

He’d rubbed Arya's arm, calming her down with mumbled words, like Robb only knew from their parents, but it worked. The trembling had lessened and whoever had mixed the poison into her drink, it had probably not been him.

But if not, then who?

It wasn't like Robb didn't believe in magic. Granted, he had struggled with it, but it was a fact. There were supernatural powers, whether he wanted to believe in them or not. His brother was a Warg, could sneak into the mind of an animal, he’d seen a red priestess burning a huge trench with just her bare hands and he’d fought against the living dead! So, he really was no ignorant.

But this … it was just too much.

With his eyes firmly closed, he was now sitting in one of these carriages without horses. There was a coachman, but Robb couldn’t see how he was steering it. He tried not to think about it.

Music surrounded them, wherever it came from. Bizarre music, instruments as unfamiliar as the material the doors of the carriage were made of. And there were no musicians sitting in front of him or behind him, the space was much narrower than in a conventional carriage. But he also tried not to think about that either.

Arya sat next to him, watching with big eyes the surroundings passing them by, which wasn’t easy, because this strange thing moved much too fast. How could that be? How was it spurred? WHERE WERE THE HORSES?

Robb pressed his eyes shut even more and breathed.

Just breathed. In through the nose and out through his mouth.

He knew it wouldn't help him much if Theon was with him now. He was like Arya or Jon, an excellent fighter, brave, with incredibly fast reflexes. But Theon was often too impulsive and rarely did anything good come out of it, if it was him who worked out their plans.

_Just like now_, Robb thought bitterly.

And yet the worry gnawed on him like a disease, flooded his body and paralyzed him for farsightedness, he now needed so desperately to get them out of this mess. 

But just one moment continued to flick through his mind. That one second when he’d known they'd _always_ have to look out for each other no matter what, even if they had to give their lives for it.

They’d been right in the middle of the battle, fighting, back to back, surrounded by the screeching dead, swinging their swords and beating down one target after another. When just then Renly Baratheon had been overrun on the field by the mass of opponents.

And all the sounds around them so loudly, you could hardly hear yourself breathing, but one scream had drowned everything out. Loras Tyrell, dashing through the crowd with his blood-drenched armor, knocking down all opponents in front of him as if they were blades of grass, desperately trying to reach out to the man on the ground.

Only for a second Robb had looked around for Theon, meeting his eyes.

_This could be us_, he’d thought, and they both had grabbed each other's hands.

But how could he save him now if he didn't even know where he was?

The sweat ran along his temples, over his back, the fur coat much too thick for this warm weather, but he felt like he had to keep wearing it, in need of every kind of protection he carried with him, his hand still firmly clenched around the knob of his sword.

Then the carriage stopped. And with it the music.

Robb opened his eyes.

He could see trees, not as piny as in the wolfswood outside the walls of Winterfell, but at least the first familiar sight he saw since they’d arrived in this foreign country. Also, the noises had become quieter, the castles, however strange they still looked, were no longer that huge and the strings, which had been stretched zigzag through the air before, were only to be seen here and there.

He took a deep breath and turned to his sister. “You feel better?”

She nodded, “you too?” He didn't know.

They got out, the carriage drove off and Gendry now approached, his hands deep in the pockets of his strange coat. _“It's nice here, isn't it? Thought maybe it'd be good for you, since you're obviously not the big city type of guys.”_

Robb looked around, the soil and the plants reminded him more of his mother's home then Winterfell, and the air smelled of water. He stretched his head and recognized the river between the trees. “Let's see what's back there,” Robb said to Arya, already walking towards the blue surface not a few steps head of them.

On the other side of the river, people lay on the grass and Robb was irritated to see that they all wore no clothes. Arya giggled beside him.

“_Just look_ who we’ve got there,” she said, trying to suppress her chuckling, but with little success and stretched her arm towards a big tree under which four people were lying, also complete naked. “I knew you didn't have to worry.”

And Robb's eyes became huge.

_That bastard._

Right now, it was pretty easy for him to act directly without thinking. He turned around, pulled the dagger from Arya's belt, ignored both her and Gendry’s protest, but threw it across the river with such force, that it hit the tree with a clash, right between Theon and a red-haired woman, who immediately started screaming.

Theon flinched back, looking around in a mad rush, but all color left his face when he finally discovered Robb. As if he’d seen a ghost.

Robb, however, was just fucking _furious_. Turned around and stomped through the forest in Theon’s direction, his footsteps speeding up until he finally ran. He heard Arya and Gendry coming after him, shouting both words that didn’t reach him. The rage was burning too loud in his ears.

_How could he? How dared he?_ He worried all the damn time, so hard that he almost lost his mind, and Theon had nothing better to do than to use the first opportunity to stick up his dick the next best hole which crossed his path!

Many of the people had gotten up when they heard the noise Robb made, as he roared through the thicket. Watched him in horror as he ran full force into the clearing.

Theon's mouth wide open, he breathed his name, as Robb jumped against him and dragged him to the ground.

“You son of a bitch!” Robb screamed, took Theon's shoulders in both his hands and slammed them back on the floor with all his strength. 

Theon hissed in pain and finally began to defend himself, pressed against him with his whole body to push him off from himself, and Robb let out a low groan, as he felt him, half hard between his legs. 

Did he ever had a chance to feel him that way? Something stirred in his groin and he was distracted for a moment, for Theon to use the opportunity and push his knee into Robb’s ribs, so that he finally rolled away from him.

“Shit, are you stupid?” Theon cursed and rubbed the back of his head. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I _doing_ here? What are YOU doing here?”

Theon stared at him, his naked chest raising heavily, his dark hair glistening wet in the sun as he reached out one trembling hand to stroke Robb's cheek far too gently with his thumb. Trailed it along his jawline and over his bottom lip.

Then he flinched back as if lightning had struck him, his voice barely more than a breath, “you're real?” 

“Huh? Of course I am real.” 

“But I - I thought,” Theon looked all confused, then turned crimson red and finally covered his manhood in a hurry, as Robb suspected, with his breeches, lying not far away in the grass, apparently soaking wet.

“Aren't we dead?” Theon whispered, voice shaking, his eyes flitted to an older man with a thick beard, staring annoyed at them from the tree where the dagger was still stuck.

By that, Robb was too perplexed to answer, his mouth just dropped opened and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline. _Has he gone mad?_

Then Arya finally reached them, and with her Gendry, at whose sight Theon let out a choked cry. If there'd been any color left on his face, now it was gone.

Completely baffled, he looked from him to Robb, to Arya, back to the old man under the tree, then down on himself, then back to Robb. His eyes became wide and then he finally snapped as well.

“_S_o, what - the fuck - is going on _here_?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, thank you very much for the great feedback!  
I'm so happy that you enjoy this story as much as I do. 
> 
> Due to my bachelor thesis and a few holiday events in fandom this story has to pause until February. But don't worry, I will definitely keep writing it!  
So, here's a little preview for the next chapter and what will follow. 
> 
> Happy holidays to all of you and a good start into the new year! <3

**GENDRY**

He’d almost solved the riddle, and considering all the clues, there were only two logical options. However, the term _logical_ had to be seen very widely here. And one of the solutions was so absurd that Gendry didn't even dare to think it through completely. He stayed with the first one. These people were Innuits.

First, there were these weird clothes. It was obvious that they came from a country that had little in common with the big cities of Europe. But the developing countries Gendry thought of were all in the warmer regions of the planet. But who’d wear such a fur coat in Bangladesh? (But who in Bangladesh would own such a precious dagger either?)

Then there was the caffeine shock. Well, probably Innuits also drank coffee, but for sure not as often as here in Europe, one looked at the not quite so distinct export economy in the Arctic.

In addition to that, they were obviously unable to cope with everything related with electricity. Gendry knew that it was bovine to believe that Innuits still lived like in the last millennium, for them to make fire with stone and stick, but he had read that there were still many remote areas, maybe they had lived in one, quite safe without smartphones and flat screens.

The naked guy confirmed his thesis, even though the other two looked more European, especially the redhead. (By now Gendry was sure they were siblings. Even if eyes and face were different, the nose, the mouth, but especially how they both frowned and fought each other. It was obvious in the way the redhead, _Rob_, acted, that he was her older brother). But the naked guy looked more foreign, with his tanned skin, the black hair, he could be descended from the natives.

So, all this taken into account, it was the only _realistic_ conclusion. They came from Alaska.

Still lingering at the nudist beach, meanwhile Gendry and Arya had sat further back in the shade, watching the other two arguing. Admittedly, it was quite an amusing picture. One soaking wet, naked, with a knob of his clothes in front of his intimate area, the other also soaking wet, but from the sweat in his much too thick fur coat.

A ripple of laughter came out of Gendry’s mouth, but then he heard a rumbling right next to him.

He turned to the side and saw Arya sitting there, blushing but still grim, her stomach growling again. _“What?”_ she asked, sulking, _“I skipped dinner because of this fool,” _pointing at the naked guy with the dark hair.

The corner of his mouth twitched, whatever she had said, he'd bet anything it was another biting comment, he kind of liked that side of her. Rummaging around in the pockets of his coat, he finally found a cereal bar and held it out to her. But she again looked at him in disbelief. (So, no cereal bars in Alaska either.)

In order not to repeat the scenario with the latte macchiato, he tore the package open with his teeth and bit in the bar hard once. Then he held it out to her, and she took it. Ate and closed her eyes.

She seemed to like the taste, her features became a little softer, she looked pretty, this relaxed.

“It’s good?”, he asked, as she stared back at him, showing her a thumbs-up with a questioning look. Though, she didn’t seem to understand the gesture, her only answer was to put her head at an angle, eyes narrowed on his thumb, still chewing.

“Is it _gooood_?” he asked again, the right thumb still up and rubbing his stomach with his left hand.

He must look pretty stupid, as she started giggling, a somehow sweet sound, which didn't quite fit in with the rest of her personality, like the other time when he’d fallen on his ass at the tram stop. But even that he liked somehow. Then she nodded and held her thumb up as well.

He grinned; _there we go_.

In the meantime, the others had joined them. Still grumpy faces, but apparently, they’d settled their quarrel. Rob seemed much more relaxed than Gendry had seen him before. The naked man was no longer naked but had put on his wet clothes. Now stared at him skeptically from dark eyes. Gendry stood up and held out his hand.

“Gendry,” he said, and waited for the other to react.

“Theon.” His handshake was too firm, he didn't break eye contact. A typical male power play, Gendry knew this well enough, squeezed a little harder once and then let go.

It seemed obvious that they needed new clothes, and not only to finally be less conspicuous (head down and ears open hadn't worked so well this far) and since they didn't carry any luggage with them, they probably had to buy some. _Well, this is gonna be fun._

They were not far away from his home, therefore he knew a few Red Cross shops on the way, where they’d find something suitable for little money. (Seriously, anything that didn't look like medieval festival in late summer was more fitting than what this team was wearing).

While the other two had already had some time to get used to their new surroundings, not only trams, taxis and bicycles seemed to be new for Theon. He stared at everything with his mouth open, his eyes sparkling like a child’s at Christmas. Especially with every second woman walking past them, Gendry was afraid they wouldn't make it to their destination without having a sexual harassment report on their hands.

But despite his concern, they managed to enter the shop without any unwanted encounters. A small bell rang above the door, and the woman behind the counter looked up, struggling to hide her laughter. Yeah, he knew what they looked like (a few questionable and obviously not very successful film students), so he only raised one hand to greet her.

Then he turned around to check on his fellers but realized, that the others were still standing awkwardly in the entrance, obviously no clue what he wanted them to do next.

He pulled on his shirt and then pointed at their clothes, which caused Rob to look even more grumpy, Arya to avoid his gaze and Theon ... well, to smirk. Honestly, Gendry could smell from a distance that this guy meant trouble.

But at least he showed himself cooperative, as he started to stroll through the shop, looked at everything and _touched_ almost anything that crossed his sight. Even turned the knobs on a clock radio so damn enthusiastic that Gendry was afraid he’d break it and they’d have to pay for it. But then he went on and finally came to the clothes section in the back of the shop.

The first thing he choose was a black shirt with anchors, Magnum-style, and a pair of golden tights. So, if _that_ was going to be his final choice, he'd better stick with his wet blouse and breeches. It was a close race on which outfit might attract less attention. But then his eyes fell on a grey suit and he reached for it with a big grin on his face.

Gendry seized the moment and risked to peer over his shoulder, just to see if the other two had followed Theon's example but then realized, that Arya had suddenly disappeared. _When did that happen?_ Spinning around in circles, he tried to examine every corner in just a few seconds.

“What … where is SHE?”

Only when his gaze finally ended up on Rob, he became aware of his behavior, and blushed deeply. _Idiot_. Clearing his throat, he then started to inspect the various clothing racks in front of him, pretending to be highly concentrated. Why did he even care where she was? If her brother wasn't worried, he certainly didn't have to either.

Shaking his head to drive away those thoughts, he looked back at Theon. And immediately let go of the green sweater he had just held in his hand, just to jump across the shop, only in time to prevent Theon from taking off his trousers as well; his blouse already lying on the floor.

“Not here!” he yelled and pushed him into one of the dressing rooms.

_Jesus._ He knew he was trouble.

With a heavy sigh he turned back around, just to see Rob, still standing near the entrance ... grinning. It was probably the first time he saw the hint of a smile on his face, the same crooked smile that he liked to see on Arya’s face as well (god, he really had to stop thinking about her).

So, instead, he picked up some clothes for her brother, a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, a dark button-down. Even he couldn't make out his form beneath the thick fur coat he was still wearing, Gendry guessed for them to be about the same size, and then also pushed him into one of the booths. _What a day this was._

(If only he'd taken the damn subway.)

The curtains rattled shortly thereafter and both men stepped back into the shop.

To his relief, Gendry noted, that he had achieved his goal with Rob. Even if he seemed a little insecure in his new skin, he looked exactly like an everyday normal guy as Gendry had intended. But Theon on the other hand … well, at least he wasn't naked or wet anymore. But just looked like a guy, ready to go and shoot the next cover for the fucking GQ Magazine.

Discreet was something else. But still better than the golden tights, he had to remind himself.

He waved them over to go to the cashier for him to pay, when he finally discovered Arya leaning against the counter, back at the front of the shop. Like with the tram, she had popped up out of nowhere. Wearing a black sweater, black pants, black boots. She tugged at her sleeve, somewhat insecure, but really, she had no reason to. If anything, he thought, she really looked ... _hot_. Fuck.

Her eyes met his, so he smiled slightly, (probably more of a grimace) noticing how she blushed. Even though he felt the resembling heat on his own cheeks, he showed her a thumbs-up again and at that she smiled back. Letting go of her sleeve, burying her hands in the pockets of her trousers instead, and looked back at her other two companions with a grin, while he went to the cashier and gave her his credit card.

So, what happened next was the dreaded nightmare of every low-income shopper with a fluctuating bank account. A sound that caused Gendry's neck hair to stand on end, every time he heard it.

“Try again,” he said, between clenched teeth, but also the next time luck wasn't on his side.

She looked at him pitifully, when he suddenly felt a strong hand on his shoulder, the same second a small black velvet bag was dropped on the counter. And turning his head, he saw Theon looking at him with a smug grin, _“let me handle this,” _opening the bag and taking out ... three gold coins?

Gendry's eyes were trained enough to see directly that these were made of _real_ gold, even with damned minting, no cheap imitations, so, he took them out of Theon’s hand for a closer look.

And now _his_ mouth dropped open, because there was no way to keep up his first solution. In no world, Innuits were _still_ paying with fucking _gold coins_.

This left only one conclusion.

But one, nobody would ever believe (himself included).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody,  
I'm back from the winter break a little earlier than planned!  
My thesis isn't quite finished yet, so the updates may still be a bit irregular until mid-February, but the next chapter is almost written, so fingers crossed that it will be ready in time next weekend :)
> 
> Before you read any further, be sure that you have read the second part of the last chapter, where the crew goes shopping. And if you're interested in what they look like after that, I made [some art,](https://evax3.tumblr.com/post/190198809004/twtb-is-back-from-winter-break-with-new-chapters) you can check out on Tumblr. 
> 
> And now, happy reading! :)

**ARYA**

Robb was a Tully, that was for sure. Family, Duty, Honor ran through his veins. His fair skin, auburn hair, and those blue eyes; wherever he was standing with their brothers, Sansa or her mother, no one would ever question their kinship. _She_ was the one, who had always looked different.

But right now though, this look on his face, it was all Stark.

It was her; it was Jon; it was their father. With his arms crossed in front of his chest, eyes narrowed, jaw tensed, and teeth clenched. It was an expression that said,_ I don’t approve this situation and if it went my way, we wouldn’t be in this mess_. And it was mostly directed at the person responsible for that. In Robb's case, it was usually Theon.

Arya couldn't understand him at all. “Why you still so sulky?”

“I’m not sulky,” he said … sulky.

They were sitting in a tavern, much more reminiscent of the inns of their homeland, than the place they’d visited before, where one of the guests had tried to poison Arya and Gendry had saved her. Even though she was embarrassed about her early behavior, that she hadn't stayed quiet, instead of screaming in panic, from the way he had calmed her down, she now felt even more connected to him (she really had to stop thinking things like that).

So, instead, she put her focus back on her brother. “You have him back, wasn’t that what you wanted?”

His angry look turned away from Theon, starring at her through gleaming eyes, for Arya to flinch back a little.

She had watched them during the day, (well, if she managed to take her eyes off the blacksmith). Theon’s whispering, _I'm really sorry, _over and over again, but Robb never gave in that easy. Stubborn as a Stark some might say. So, at one point, not long ago, Theon had given up, and was now in one corner of the tavern with a group of men, throwing small arrows at a round target on a wall, strangely without a bow. But judging by Theon's laughter, he didn't seem to need one to run rings round.

“What do you mean, _have him back_?” Robb growled.

“Well, _have him back_, like …” Maybe confronting him with the obvious wasn't the tactically smartest thing to do. But she had never cared, if anyone liked what she said or not. “You know, like mother is always in a bad mood, whenever father is travelling south with King Robert, and then she's happy again, when … _she has him back_.”

Robb's face took on the color of his hair, his eyes widened, confirming that Arya had hit home just with these few little words.

“There is _nothing_ between me and Theon, like mother and father,” he gasped, for her to roll her eyes. In that sense, Robb was a Tully after all.

Then the chair next to her moved and Gendry was back, placing two steaming plates right in front of them. It smelled delicious and her stomach growled with anticipation.

He took one of the small yellow slices and put it in his mouth, grinning. Then he licked his fingers, one by one, and Arya had to bite her own lip to suppress the gasp which almost escaped her (because he really had some nice lips, curved and full). Presumably she now looked just like Robb. So, she forced her eyes back at her plate, blushing in shame, and grabbed a handful of slices, shoving them into her own mouth.

And by all the gods, it tasted _amazing! _

The yellow slices were crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, the sausage cut into small pieces, in a brown sauce, sweet and spicy at the same time. She stuffed everything inside her mouth, hardly stopping to chew, eating as if it might disappear if she didn’t inhale it. And a quick glance up showed her, that Robb did the same.

_Where's your manners_, she suddenly heard Sansa's voice in her head and paused.

Then looked down at herself, hands smeared with spice and sauce, and shame came over her again, stabbing, anger boiling in her stomach, mixing in a toxic way with the delicious food.

What was he to think of her? That she behaved like a pig and not at all appropriate. Not at all like a lady.

The women he liked would certainly not have bolted like a peasant, they would have eaten three bites and then stopped. Dabbing their mouths’. Sansa was such a lady. Her mother was. But Arya was nothing like that.

She bit her lip, examined the mess she had made on the table in front of her, then risked a glance at Gendry, peered to the side with one eye. And saw him smiling.

Sweet and warm, showed her his thumb again, by now she knew that this meant something good. And a little smile spread across her face, it felt strange, but she liked it. Because, maybe he wasn’t looking for a lady at all? Maybe he liked to eat with his hands, just like she did and did not care that everything had to be neat and clean?

She leaned back in her chair and enjoyed this feeling for once, satisfied and sated. Took the opportunity to look around and observe the few guests sitting around her. There was soft music playing from a large black box next to the counter. No musicians. Like in the carriage. Maybe there were dwarves sitting in the box, like the queen's brother, but more than one seemed not to fit in there.

Her joy didn’t last very long. Because, pleased with the basic need to satisfy hunger, she suddenly felt something else coming over her. Not in her stomach, but further down. She had to take a piss.

Groaning with frustration, she realized that there was no way she’d be able to explain this problem to Gendry, without making a complete idiot of herself. So, sliding back and forth in her seat, she kept looking around, but found no solution. Normally, every tavern had a hole in the yard, a place to do one's business. But this place had no yard, nor did a corresponding hole seem within reach.

Chewing on her cheek, she looked at Gendry with pleading eyes. But he just looked back at her, obviously not understanding.

Then she saw a woman standing up at the next table. What were the chances for her to be in the same situation Arya was? She decided she had to try. Got up as well, mumbled “I’m right back,” in Robb's direction and then ran after her through one of the doors next to the black box with the dwarf inside.

But the woman was already gone, in front of her two more doors with two symbols. Two times a circle, the first supplemented by an arrow, the other with a cross. _What next?_ She liked arrows more than religion, so she chose this one and entered the room.

It was bright, white and cold, a mirror was hanging on the wall to her right. Taking on step ahead, she stared at herself for a moment, hurriedly wiped the sauces from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.

To her disappointment there was no hole either, only three white tubs hanging on the wall next to the mirror. Two large and a small one. She walked towards one of them, but noticed that they were firmly attached to the wall, maybe this was a room for washing? But how could one fit into these small tubs?

Then she saw another chamber with a swinging door, and she pushed it open with the tip of her foot, to find a white chair inside. With a _hole_ in it.

She remembered a story Sansa had told her. That kings sit on a chair with a hole, when they have a shit. Maybe that's what all the people in this country did. Arya didn't have time to look any further, just sat down and then moaned slightly with relief. Pissing like a king was really fucking comfortable.

Before she went outside again, she took one last look in the mirror, examined her dirty face, her brown tousled hair. And though she had always hated it when Sansa acted like that, she started to comb her strands with her fingers, tied a long thin braid, rubbing the dirt off her cheeks. But sighed right away, when she was finished. Looking herself in the eye, she had to except, that she’d never be a beauty like Sansa. She’d never be even close to look like a lady, however hard she tried.

Depressed and lost in thought, she opened the door and ran straight into the man, who was about to enter the room she came out of. First backing away, she then narrowed her brows at the sight of the arrogant grin right in front of her.

“I think you were in the wrong place,” Theon smirked, taking a step back and watching her. “Prettied yourself up a little, didn’t you?” he asked, took her braid and flipped it through his fingers.

She pushed him off, “leave me alone.” But his smirk grew even wider.

“I see the way you are drooling over the young king,” he winked at her, “you want him, don’t you?”

Arya blushed even more than she had, right before at the table, stared angrily at Theon. “Shut up,” she scowled and started to walk past him, when he grabbed her by the arm.

“Here,” he said and pressed a small vial into her hand. Where by all the gods had he hidden all that stuff, first that sack of gold, now this? And why was he carrying all those things around with him?

“What is that?” she asked stubbornly.

“That's what the women in the brothel use to avoid getting bastards.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Don’t want a little snowflake yourself, do you? Drowned God, we really don't need another one of those, sitting in the corner, always surly.”

She didn't know what to say. Maybe it’d be appropriate to thank him, but she’d rather cut off her hand than do that. And he seemed to know, just nodded at her, still smirking, and then walked past her into the cold white room with the tubs.

Though Arya stayed where she was, looked after him, the vial tightly clutched in her palm, warm and solid. Like a promise. Like something inevitable. It made her tremble, both out of joy and fear. Like if she'd already made up her mind, whether or not she would need it.


	9. Chapter 9

**THEON**

Ever since they were kids, Theon and Robb have been touching each other.

Whether it had been Robb's little hand pulling Theon to a seat right next to him at the dinner table, a strong grip on his shoulder when they became older, or a hug that often lasted much longer than usual for two young men, on rare occasions, when he had received the news of his father's death, or just before the battle, with fear and desperation in their eyes. They often solved their disputes with fists, bumped into each other when they made some jokes, stood side by side connected from shoulder to sole.

All their lives, Robb and Theon were touching. Up until a few moons ago, when Jon had visited them, an evening ending with them sitting in a tavern, drunken, until long after Jon had already gone to bed.

That night, something had changed. They had crossed a line and Robb had avoided touching him ever since. At least that's how it seemed. Until today.

Because he had felt him. Right there at the river in the gras, him completely naked, Robb in his thick fur. Felt him between his legs, just as Robb had felt him between his. And Theon had seen the expression in Robb’s eyes, fear and desire, despite all the anger. Like back at that night, upstairs in the dark dusty room of the tavern.

And he was so fucking confused about it. And angry about the confusion. While it was all Robb's fault, who dared to be mad at him, even though he had apologized several times, for a thing that wasn't even _his fault_. (He didn't even want to think about how stupid he’d been, thinking he was dead. But he certainly wouldn't show Robb any of his shame).

When had the moment come, for Robb to no longer simple admired him, but giving him angry stares and lectures? When did he become a fool instead of the grown man, holding Robb back because he had gotten into a fight with that slimeball of Lannister Prince? And, why did he even care if Robb was mad? Yet, it bothered him more than anything else.

Even now, with his back to him, standing at the bar, Theon felt his eyes burning through the thin black fabric of his clothes.

He’d done his best to show Robb that he didn't mind his bad mood, had howled with laughter at some jokes of the men he'd played this strange game with (honestly, who would think of leaving the bow out of archery?), even though he hadn’t understand a single word. And blessed with a lucky hand at gambling, he had won three red rags of painted paper, but only later, after watching some of the other guests, did he understand that the people here used it as payment.

Actually, Theon's first thought had been, that they’d travelled to the future. That Arya adding the glass had caused some kind of reversal and that they had not travelled many years back but forward. But this paper thing, it seemed as regressive as anything he'd seen before. For whom else was paper something so valuable that it was used as a means of payment? Gold, that was something not many had, and it showed the status of someone owning it.

Lost in thought, Theon stroked the golden necklace falling down on his chest as the barmaid placed four full transparent jugs of yellow liquid in front of him. He gave her his most charming smile, and she blushed slightly. _Screw Robb and his fucking stubbornness_. And a little more content, he took the jugs and went back to their table.

Carelessly he dropped himself on the chair next to Robb, pushed a beer in front of his nose and pressed his knee under the table against his. Feeling Robb's body stiffen, he knew it was this new impulse of him to move back, but there was no room. Theon looked at him challenging and Robb stared back, still grumpy, turning his body only slightly, but enough for him to get the chance to pull his leg away.

For Theon to smirk at him, even though the anger was boiling in his stomach.

“So, we need to come up with a plan,” Robb then said, quite the leader his father had raised him to be. So now, Arya looked up as well, turned away from the house of cards she had tried to build together with the guy, what was his name again, Henley?

“And how’s that?” she asked, took a jug for herself and drank deeply.

“We need to find out where we are and what time it is,” Robb continued. “I think it will be easiest to ask a Maester. They have maps and keep track of the seasons.”

Arya snorted, “sure, just ask a Maester. Since we've seen so many today.”

“Somewhere in this whole place must be something like a Citadel.”

“Well, good luck finding one.”

More and more Theon got the feeling that she was not in the least interested in finding a solution for their current situation, and it would surely not take long until Robb would become suspicious as well.

“I'll go find one,” he then said and earned two skeptical looks for that.

“The fuck you will.”

“What?”

“You heard me right,” Robb scolded, “you won't run away again, for us to search every brothel in this whole town if you won’t come back.”

“Oh, are you worried about me, Stark? Although I didn’t run away. I just thought I was...” _dead_. Still embarrassed by his stupidity, Theon felt the blush rise to his face. Yet all the seas would rather freeze before he’d allow Robb this victory. “Or maybe you just can't stand to see me with another redhead.”

His answer was dead silence, as he realized what he'd just said. _Why did he say that?! _

Then Robb started to cough, and Arya's eyebrows shot up, her gaze flitting between him and her brother. It was enough for Theon to confirm that he was right, but he didn't know how to bloody handle it.

They never said it out loud. Whatever it was going on between them. Not after summers of yearning stares, not after the battle they thought they'd lost each other in, not even after _that night_ at the tavern. _Why had he said that?_ His heart picked up speed, and he clenched his hands into fist to stop them from trembling. _What could he do now?_

So, he did the only thing that came to his mind, leaned forward, scratched his lip with his teeth, _grinned_ and took it even one step further.

“You want to hear how I know that I'm right?” he said, eyes fixed on Robb. “I felt you. At the river. Right _there_, down between my –”

He had no chance to finish the sentence. Robb had got up so hastily, anger twisting his face, as he grabbed Theon by his arm, pulled him on his legs and then outside. No other choice but to stumble after him until Robb finally let go.

“How dare you say something like that in front of my sister!”

The topic had changed and pleased with himself Theon crossed his arms in front of his chest, a smile forming on his lips again. Robb and Jon were both so damn oblivious at times to see what their dear little siblings were really up to. “Well, looks like soon, she also got something between her legs, don’t you think?”

“WHAT?”

Rolling his eyes but also raising his hands, he shouldn’t push his luck, for he knew that words would soon no longer be enough to express Robb's anger. “I'm just kidding, calm down.” He took a step towards him, grabbed Robb by the shoulder but he backed off again and that was finally enough.

“All right, what's your fucking problem?” Theon snapped. “You’re scared for me to touch you?”

“What? No, I –”

“Then what's all this stuff?” He hadn't realized how much it upset him. How it drove him crazy that it was _Robb_ who rejected _him_. And words fell from his mouth with no way to hold them back. “I said I was sorry. It was a bloody misunderstanding. But you've been acting weird the whole time, maybe that's why you want to get married and move to the fucking capital?”

Robb turned his head to stop looking at him and Theon felt a stab in his chest as if someone had thrust a dagger between his ribs. Because here it was, the truth. Robb was gonna run ... _from him_.

But then he finally opened his mouth. “You know I want nothing more than to stay in the North.” Restless, tense, hardly more than a breath, he added, “with you.”

And _this_, it could have been enough. A confession that showed what he'd been thinking all along. What he had wished for. _And_ he had the upper hand once again, so he should leave it at that. But it was like a lock had been forced open inside Theon, so now he just couldn't stop.

“Though ever since _that night_, you've been acting like a fucking maiden who's been robbed of her honor.” He took a deep breath and mad one step forward, “Robb, nothing bad happened. We fucked those wenches and that's it.” Although he himself knew that wasn't true. But they might believe it. If that's what Robb wanted.

Meanwhile Robb's eyes were fixed on his feet and Theon could hardly understand his words, when he spoke again, “you know yourself that's not how it was.”

“It is, if we want it to be,” Theon whispered. He wasn't sure if he wanted it. And suddenly, he didn't know if he even needed something like an upper hand anymore.

Theon’s heart stuttered, as Robb shifted his gaze, so that he was looking over at him from beneath his thick lashes, through those deep blue eyes.

_Drowned god, those eyes_.

Theon licked his lips and Robb’s gaze followed his tongue, coming closer without neither of them being able to prevent it, until there was almost no space left between them. He could smell him. Leaves, leather, steel and him, _Robb_.

Theon knew this moment. Every serving girl, every whore he had ever slept with, had that look in their eyes. The same look Robb had now, insecure yet hungry. He himself, however, had never felt like this before. Desperate, adrift, at Robb’s mercy.

“Say something,” Theon breathed.

“I –”, Robb began, his gaze went again to Theon's lips, it felt like right before the jump.

But then all of a sudden, he paused, brows narrowed, eyes fixed on something behind him. “What in all seven hells?” Robb said and took a step aside.

“Huh?” Theon replied, still feeling a little dazed.

“There!”

At that, he lost his rigidity and finally turned around, his gaze following Robb's outstretched arm. And his mouth dropped open.

Red like fire they stared at him, eyes that bore through him like the sharp blade of a sword. He backed away but could not untie himself. That stare was, as if it touched his deepest core, his soul. Only magic could do that. Magic, he had seen just once in his entire life.

And in no world could this be a coincidence. He knew that, and so did she, as her dark eyes stuck to them, while she got into a yellow carriage, and past them by.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody, university is over!!  
I still can't believe it, but in any case, there are now regular updates again and even the next three chapters are almost finished.  
Please excuse the long wait and have fun while reading on :)

**GENDRY**

3:56

3:57

He’d been lying in his bed for more than three hours, staring at the clock, watching how those small signs changed into new numbers, wide awake, and his thoughts a wild spiral without an anchor.

It shocked him how much sense everything suddenly made, although it didn’t make any sense at all. He just had to put up with it, and then he was good.

They were time travelers.

They were fucking time travelers and right now, in this exact moment, they're lying on the floor in his fucking living room, sleeping.

This conclusion simply explained everything, the gold coins, the strange clothes, the weapons, that they didn’t even know a tap, and yet his mind just couldn't accept the thought. He didn't believe in those things. He was a rational man through and through. To him, what he saw was real, what he touched was real, what he could understand. This certainly was nothing like that.

_Fuck_.

He really needed to talk to someone who believed in such things. And there was only one person in this world he knew, who’d at least listen to him until the end of the story without hanging up, suspecting it was only a prank. So, he reached for his phone and dialed the number, one he’d memorized since his high school days.

It only rang twice.

“Heeeey what’s up? G to the E to the N to the ... oh fuck man, your name’s far to long for this.”

Gendry chuckled. “Hey Richie, how’re you doin?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Slept all day and then took Toby for a walk. Now I’m just preparing an avocado to make some _guacamoleee_. How are things with the Krauts?”

It felt so good to hear a familiar voice that Gendry felt immediately far more relaxed, leaned deeper into the cushions, crossing his legs and put an arm behind his head. “To be honest, I've just had the weirdest day ever.”

“Hang on a sec, shouldn't you be sleeping? What time’s it on your side?”

“That's why I called you,” he took a short break, pondered his words, fuck if Richie would laugh at him, so be it. “I gotta tell you something, man, you won't believe me anyway, but I just gotta talk to somebody about it, or my fucking brain blows up.”

And then he told him the whole story. Just everything. How they all just came out of nowhere, the caffeine shock, the naked guy, the gold coins, the clothes, the strange language and just everything about Arya, of course.

From the jump from the tram, the dagger, to her piercing gray eyes, which Gendry couldn't get out of his head, as if her gaze had unlocked something inside him, set something free in him that now simply couldn't be calmed anymore.

Arya, who was so different than all the women he had liked before. Who didn't need anybody to court her, because she seemed to be quite capable of it herself. She affecting all his senses, made him to be willing to make a complete idiot of himself, but even that didn't matter if he got one of those little smiles in return.

And wasn't that crazy? Because they only knew each other for a few hours, they didn't even speak the same language and besides, she was actually far too young. But somehow there was this connection, which he just couldn't ignore.

The end of his story was followed by a long pause and a deep sigh, though he knew for sure that Richie was covering his eyes with his hands. “Phew, man, that’s pretty though.”

“Amen to that.” Gendry joked, closing his eyes as well.

“You should write a song about it,” he heard the voice on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of an open bag of chips. “You know, something like, _the Girl from another Time_. And then there's Beyoncé in the video, appearing all mysterious from behind some curtain.”

“I think I have more pressing problems right now than launching a professional music career.”

“I'm just saying, think about it. Or if you don't want to, I'll do it,” Richie smacked and started humming some unknown tune.

“Sure,” Gendry yawned, “you got my blessing.”

“So, what’re you gonna do now?”

“I have no fucking clue.”

“You wanna keep her?”

“What do you mean? Keep her?”

“Well, you know,” Richie said and crumpled up his bag of chips, so that Gendry had to put his phone a little further away from his ear, “let them stay with you and stuff.”

“I think so.”

And Gendry thought of Arya, only a thin wall away from him, and the thought made his skin tingle.

“All right man, then you gotta show her all the hot shit,” Richie's voice now much more excited. “Movies and roller coasters and all the cool things. None of that lame stuff like taps or refrigerators, you know?”

And Richie was right, if he had come from the Middle Ages to the present day, he would certainly want to see more than all kinds of household appliances that worked with electricity.

He imagined going to the movies with Arya. Not a ridiculous romantic comedy, maybe a horror movie? Then he remembered that she wouldn't understand a single word and abandoned the idea again.

They talked for a while about all the things Gendry could do with his her instead, until Richie had to leave for his date and Gendry recognized with a quick glance at the clock, that it was only 30 minutes away from ringing.

He might as well get up.

Soft-footed, he went into the kitchen, turned on the coffee machine, leaned against the counter and rubbed his hands over his face. If he wanted to, he could just believe that this was only one normal Friday morning, admittedly with very little sleep, but everything else as usual.

He could try not to think about the fact that there were three strangers sleeping in his living room, just going to work, maybe they were gone when he came home?

Even the thought that Arya might be gone, for him to never see her again, made his guts clench.

The machine next to him beeped loudly, showing him that his coffee was ready.

He opened his eyes tiredly and flinched when he saw her standing right there in the door opposite him, leaning against the frame, her head at an angle, staring at him through her beautiful grey eyes. Emerging out of nowhere. How did she do that?

He stared back, watched her in the dark light, illuminated only by the small lamp in the hallway. His eyes had become so used to the darkness that he didn't bother to turn on any more than this one.

She only wore the T-shirt he had given her to sleep. Bare feet on cold tiles, her long brown hair messy and half fallen out of her braid, and yet Gendry had to swallow, feeling his heart beating faster, while her gaze bore right through him.

Damn how much he wanted her.

Slowly she walked towards him, like a cat, and although he wanted nothing more than to meet her halfway, he felt like frozen, strong hands resting on the shelf, fingers spread, no chance to move.

Would it be wrong to kiss her? Probably so. And still he couldn't think of anything else to do.

But then she finally looked away, went to the fridge instead, opened it like he had shown her before.

He knew himself that there wasn't much to find there, yet he suddenly freed himself from his rigidity, peered over her shoulder into the white room. Saw her putting one hand against the cold white walls and for the first time he noticed the scars that covered her arms. Where did she get these? And then it occurred to him that violence and war were not uncommon in the time she probably came from.

Without thinking about it, he stretched out his hand, ran his finger over her skin. It was probably encroaching; she would probably slap him right away. Instead, she just looked at him, raised one brow, and her eyes fell on his mouth.

“Fuck, I wish I could kiss you,” he whispered, because he knew that she could not understand him.

At that her lips parted, a low sigh came out, together with soft words Gendry didn't know their meaning, yet they sounded like music to his ears. _“You can kiss me if you want.”_

He leaned forward, moving very slowly, goosebumps on both their arms whether from the tension or the cold air of the still open fridge. He wanted to give her a chance to move away, to step back in case he misinterpreted all this.

But she stayed where she was when he closed his eyes ... and his alarm finally went off.

They both jumped up in shock, Arya's eyes widened, because she probably didn't know that sound, so he hastily ran into the bedroom, switched off the alarm clock, then went back to the kitchen, found her smelling his coffee. He exhaled deeply.

She looked good in his kitchen, in his shirt, with his cup in her hand. But the moment had passed, and Gendry didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Either way, he had to go now, because he really couldn't afford a day off.

That gave him an idea. “Hey, you coming with me?”

He pointed from her to himself and then to the door, for safety's sake he made a movement with his index and middle finger as if they were walking and she seemed to understand. Grinned broadly and nodded eagerly.

A resembling smile spreading across his face.

Because if he got her right, she would like what he wanted to show her far better than any horror movies or some overpriced theme parks. And if she really liked it as much as he believed, then by God, she really was the woman he had to marry.

If by then he'd find a way to ask her though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is totally inspired by Joe and Jacobs' interviews on Youtube. I've seen so many of them and really, these two are doing great together. [This one is my favorite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1uBGj767D8&t=254s) :)
> 
> And don't worry, the mystery of the red woman will definitely be solved within the next few chapters!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello dears :)  
thank you so so much for all the great comments!! They really mean a lot to me and I'm so happy about every word and that you like this story as much as I love writing it!  
Therefore here is a somewhat longer chapter, I hope you enjoy ❤️

**ROBB**

On the other side of the room, no more than three seats away from them, to Robb's right, two men sat and _kissed_.

Perhaps it was wrong, for them not to talk about it anymore, neither about the night in the tavern, nor the planned wedding, nor the touches in general. Robb knew he was acting strangely, and it nearly drove him out of his mind, but he had to protect himself, he had to protect Theon.

Too often they’d gone too far. That night, yesterday at the lake, and once again in the evening standing right in front of the tavern, by way to close. Probably all their lives, much more often than either of them would have liked, much more often than either of them even realized.

Robb had felt it, as they were about to cross the line for good, Theon's breath hot on his cheek. So, he knew that if he gave in to this desire, to grab Theon, to press him against himself, _to finally kiss him_, if he gave in to it, then they were lost, doomed forever.

He couldn't let that happen.

But here he sat and across from him were these two men, who apparently did not mind in the least that everyone saw them, that everyone witnessed their sin. Just _kissing_ each other.

“What are you brooding about now?” Theon munched, sitting in front of him, with his back to the two guys and with full enjoyment, he slurped down this strange bread with meat (actually it didn't taste like meat even if it looked like it).

Robb shook his head, tried to sort his thoughts.

Due to them discovering the red woman last night (this topic much more urgent) they had avoided the other subject and Robb wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.

After they’d told Arya about their encounter, they had gone to Gendry’s place to spend the night, planned on searching for the woman just as soon as they awoke. For they all agreed it was no accident that she had appeared right out of nowhere. She was the key to bringing them back home.

But when Robb woke up, the first rays of sunlight tickling his face, the place next to him on the floor had been empty, Arya and Gendry nowhere to be seen. He had searched the whole place, admittedly not very quietly, without any sign of his sister, for Theon to finally wake up as well.

And without meaning to, this sight had instantly put him at ease, calmed Robb's mind and made him smile.

Because, how long had it been since the last time they’d woken up together? The last time they’d slept in the same bed? It seemed like almost one whole winter has passed since then. At a time when Robb hadn't been able to grow a real beard yet and his voice still sounded like one of a small little bird. No men, just two boys lying together beneath thick furs, telling each other stories about Grumkins and Snarks. Even if Theon had actually been a man grown just back then.

Now as then, his dark hair was tousled, wild and Robb loved the sight, eyes half open, a narrow soft grin on his face. His skin slightly flushed, Robb remembered some other situations where Theon had looked quite similar, and eventually turned red himself.

He was forced to accept the fact that his little sister had once again disappeared, in a foreign land full of unknown dangers, with a guy they didn't know and who didn't even speak their language. Luckily, Arya was the one of his siblings Robb was least worried about, to take care of herself. But still ...

With a gooey feeling in his guts, Theon and he had finally set off alone, a short time later, when the sun had risen completely.

But this city was far too huge, and even Theon's questionable jokes, and admittedly somehow creative assumptions about its inhabitants, had not been able to free Robb from the feeling of being quite lost. So, after what had seemed like walking for ages, Theon's stomach had finally growled so loudly that they had to take a break to eat something. Which is why they were now sitting in this strange establishment, signed with two red arches in front of the door, and ate this much too mushy and indefinable food.

“Robb?”

“Huh?”

“What’s wrong again?” Theon looked at him, one brow raised, slight annoyance in his eyes.

“This is disgusting,” Robb said instead of telling him what was really on his mind and threw the muddy bread with the apparently vegetables and apparently meat back on the plate in front of him.

At which Theon reached for it, bending his head, inspected it, but then just shrugged and swallowed the rest in one gulp. “I think it tastes good. I have no idea what it is, but I think it tastes good.”

Robb rolled his eyes but still had to snicker. “You don't even have to chew to eat it.”

“Exactly,” Theon grinned.

He couldn't help smiling back.

Shortly afterwards, they continued their search, but now avoiding the big roads, because everything just moved way too fast for them to see just anything and Robb got a headache from the speed at which these strange carriages raced past them.

They now walked through some smaller streets, and Robb enjoyed the silence or at least that it was a bit quieter than a few steps before. Letting his neck crack, he tried to relax his shoulders when Theon clapped against his arm and pointing into another alley.

“Look there, a market.”

Robb sighed, shaking his head. “We don't have time for this.”

“You’re serious? Not even a quick glance?”

“We need to find the red woman, what if she's already out of town?”

“Well then, she's already gone anyway,” Theon crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Robb felt his fortitude starting to crack. How he slowly weakened under Theon's sharp gaze. Why was he always the one to take responsibility? He suddenly felt strong sympathy for Jon.

“Come on,” Theon teased, “where's the Robb Stark who quite _liked_ to have some adventure? Since when do you come to be all grumpy and brooding all the time?”

“I –, what –, I –, that's not even true,” he frowned.

“Then, prove it,” Theon smirked, nodding in the direction of the market a few steps ahead. “Show me how _reckless_ you can still be.” His grin widened even more as Robb stomped past him, muttering some incomprehensible words under his breath, rolling his eyes once more.

But his spirits lifted quickly, when they stood in front of the first stand, his curiosity finally getting the upper hand.

He had never been someone who had tempted to visit Winter Town and run errands, but he did enjoy it when he _had_ the time to look around.

So, quite fascinated, Robb started to inspect all the things that were laid out around him, dazzling and colorful. There was crockery in all shapes and colors. Clothing so strange that he wondered how people here could wear such things, impractical and offering no protection at all. Small figurines and tons of books to match Winterfell's library.

It was overwhelming and without thinking, Robb reached for a few things here and there, took a closer look at them, twisted them between his fingers, like this way he got a chance to understand what they were used for. When Theon’s suddenly called him, tearing him out of his thoughts.

“Hey Robb, look here.”

He glanced over his shoulder but then burst out when he discovered Theon only a few steps away. A huge purple hat on his head, adorned with a red feather.

“Well, don't I look ravishing?” Theon smirked, turning from right to left to present his headdress.

“You look like Septa Mordane when she prepares herself for one of the feats down at the Great Hall,” Robb chuckled as he walked over to him.

“Oi, don't say it like that, our dear Septa always looks quite fabulous, as I recall.” Theon still smiled as he put the hat back down, shaking his black hair like Grey Wind always did, then looking back at Robb, dark eyes gleaming. “Here, try this.”

He took a thing of the tray that looked like two round cut glasses connected by a piece of metal in the middle and put it on Robb's nose. The world around him suddenly illuminated in a much darker light. Pleased with himself, Theon took a pair of his own, put them on and then pulled Robb to him so they could both look into the mirror, leaning against a post at the edge of the stand.

They were now so close that Robb felt the heat emanating from Theon's warm body beside him. Normally these days he would back away, trying to break contact as quickly as possible. Instead he moved a bit closer, grinning towards Theon in the mirror. They looked good together, didn't they?

Starring at each other for a few seconds, they both pulled a face, then laughed and finally went on.

A warm feeling spread in Robb's chest the more time they spent on the market. The worries of the last days and the desire to find a solution, to go home, were pushed into the back of his mind. Strolling from one stall to another, they tried on some clothes and enjoyed various delicacies, all of which tasted much better than the strange bread they had eaten before.

Sometimes things were gifted to them, when they’d starred too long, brows narrowed in disbelief and wondering what they even held in their hands. A small bracelet, which was decorated with different strokes that moved rhythmically, Theon assumed that they showed one how time passed. Or a little thing that lit a fire by pressing a button. If you let go of the button again, the fire went out and you could put the thing in your pocket without fear of burning yourself. It was incredible.

When they reached the end of the market, all that was left were various stalls with spices and herbs. A variety of smells blew around their noses and Robb felt like he was standing in the middle of Winterfell's kitchen, right after the harvest.

But then Theon suddenly came to a halt, obviously thinking hard, he scratched the black stubble, which had appeared around his jaw, “maybe we don't have to find the red woman at all? I mean,” he said, then turning to face Robb, “we came here with a potion, maybe we’ll get away with one as well?”

Robb looked around, inspecting the various plants from a distance. “And you remember all the things you put in there?” he asked, not quite convinced.

“I guess.” Theon just shrugged but didn't wait for Robb to return anything, instead, he went straight to the first stand closest to them.

He started to smell on different plants, rubbing leaves between his fingertips and Robb was in too good a mood to be a spoilsport again. So, he just walked after him, rejoicing with Theon when he actually recognized a plant that looked familiar, and kept the warm feeling that he had missed so much.

The sun was already setting when they left the market, the last of Theon's colored papers handed over to a man who sold the last herbs they needed, therefore a brown paper bag in their arms full of different plants. They had even found an hourglass.

“That was fun,” said Theon, pressed the button again and let the little flame appear, then put the thing back in the pocket of his trousers and turned to Robb. “I’ll really miss that.”

Robb said nothing.

“You know, once you’re at King's Landing, we won't have much time to do anything like this. Going hunting or spending the day at the archery range, that sort of thing... just you and me. I'm really going to miss this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Robb sighed and adjusted the brown bag slightly on his arm. He didn't know what else to say, didn't know what else to say without saying too much, without saying everything. Stared straight out instead, sighed again. Noticed too late that Theon had stopped.

“I don't want you to marry her.”

It was quiet and yet it was clear, for what reason Robb finally stopped as well, turned around in a slow motion.

“I –” he started, but got no chance to talk any further, because without warning, he was suddenly pushed against the wall to his next, dropping the brown bag to the ground, when Theon pinned him there, pressing him against the cold wall with his whole body.

And Robb caught his breath as Theon ghosted his lips along his jaw, sending a shiver down his spine, when his mouth stopped right below his ear.

“If this is the last time we're gonna be together, let's stop playing games,” he hushed against his skin and then moved back only a little for their eyes to meet. “I want you, Robb, I really do.”

He looked deep into the black pupils, recognized there the desire that now raged so wildly in his own chest, saw there his own fear and insecurity, realizing that they’d been lost not just since now but for a long time, whether he still crossed this one line or not. And right at this moment, he wanted nothing more than to finally cross it.

So, without thinking anymore, he lunged forward, took Theon by his neck and slammed their mouths together, moaning, because by all the gods, he had waited for this to happen almost all his life, being so much better than he had ever dreamt of.

And proving to Theon that he could indeed still be _reckless, _just if he wanted to.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains nsfw material. Really, actually it's just m/m porn with feelings and a little fluff at the end. If that's not your thing, feel free to skip this chapter. Basicaly, the only important info is that Theon and Robb finally get things going ;)
> 
> And there's also [some art](https://evax3.tumblr.com/post/611208721794809856/it-never-felt-like-this-before), if you like!

**THEON**

Of all the moments in his life, in which Theon had acted impulsively and without further thought, he could count on one hand the times when something good had come out of it. This moment though was one of them.

After they had separated from each other, just to prevent them from suffocating, Robb had smiled, face flushed, pupils widened. “I think we're done here, let's go back somewhere private.”

Theon couldn’t agree more.

They had hunted together often enough, their sense of orientation sharpened over the years, hence they found their way back to Gendry’s house before the sun had set completely.

It felt like back in the old days, when they had played pranks on Sansa or the Septa, excited, no chance of wiping their grins off their faces. The difference was only this time, they hadn't gotten away with a successful prank, but still had the task ahead of them.

With trembling fingers Theon opened the door, kept it open for Robb to pass through and with a deep breath, he followed behind.

Robb placed the brown paper bag on the floor next to him, crumpled where he had clung to it, slowly straightened up and stared at Theon from across the room. Tension and anticipation crackled between them almost tangible, making the air thick and breathing harder.

Theon bit his lip, took a small step towards him, did not break the eye contact. _Drowned god, could you get this turned on just by staring at someone?_

His breathing quickened, he felt his heart beating in his chest, licked his lips and then reached behind to pull his top over his head which ruffled his hair so he flicked it out of his face with a small turn of his neck.

Robb's eyes stuck to him, inspecting every inch of his naked torso, even though he had seen him like this countless times before, his eyes almost burned holes through his skin. This time was different.

He finally did the same, got rid of his shirt, red curls tousled, Theon watched the way his broad chest rose and fell. Meanwhile covered with thick red fur, unlike the first time Theon had looked at Robb's chest like this, with lust in his eyes. Warm summer sun on their skin, exhausted from training, when Theon had realized that Robb was no longer a boy, but slowly became a man, hard muscles formed his body, the first stubble drawn on his jaw.

He couldn't wait any longer, closed the distance between them, reached out a hand and slid it up and down Robb’s chest and arms, then wrapped it around Robb’s neck and kissed him again. He felt heat breaking out inside him, his whole body on fire, as a soft growl broke free from those full lips pressed against his.

Strong hands dug into his hair with a firm grip, causing his pulse to pick up, as Robb wrapped one arm around his back and trapped him against his chest. Theon arched his back to press closer against him, let out a shaky breath as he felt his body react to the arousal spreading through him.

“You wouldn't believe how long I've waited for this,” Robb murmured before dragging his teeth across Theon’s lower lip.

“No more waiting,” Theon replied in a low voice, almost a purr, as he reached between them, to yank at Robb’s trousers, pushing them down his hips.

They got rid of the rest of their clothes in a desperate rush of tearing hands, interrupted by wet kisses, and then stumbled backwards until they lay on the carpet, their bodies ground together. Only hot naked skin on skin. _Finally_.

Theon’s head spun with delight, and he tried to give as good as he got, biting at Robb’s lips and his chin, sucking on his neck as they were grinding against each other. Nestled between Robb's legs, he felt him spreading them further, inviting him to come even closer, but Theon knew they couldn't do it that way.

“Wait, this is –, we need –” he said breathless and pushed himself up on his arms, to stare down on Robb through dazed eyes. _Gods, he was so beautiful._ Theon took a deep breath and grinned, “we can't do it like this.”

Robb grinned back, his lips red and swollen, his cheeks flushed, “why not?”

Theon chuckled, “we need oil or something like that.”

And then he moaned low as he felt Robb pushing his hips forward again, “didn't you say no more waiting?”

_He was about to kill him and yet it'd be the most beautiful death._

Theon finally stood up, took a short moment to capture the image that presented itself at his feet, his knees weak, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Don’t fucking move,” he growled, even though a smirk was forming on his lips, resembling Robb’s, who nodded slowly.

“I won't wait long, so you better hurry up.”

And so, he did, went into Gendry's kitchen and tore open all the cupboards. There were so many different bottles and Theon cursed under his breath because he couldn’t read what was written on them. Coughing loudly when he had opened one, the acrid smell of vinegar sank deep into his nose.

He tore open another cupboard, the motion too violent, that one of the vessels flew towards him and broke loudly on the floor, brown powder flying everywhere. But Theon had no time to take care of it. He stretched some more and finally found what he had been looking for.

When he came back, Robb was still lying on the floor where he had left him, supported on his elbows, he raised one brow and snorted. “What happened to you?”

Theon looked down at himself and recognized that he was covered with brown powder just everywhere.

He tried to rub the stuff off his chest, without success, shrugged and then just knelt back down between Robb's legs, the bottle placed beside his head and his mouth resting right below Robb’s ear. “No more breaks now, I promise.”

Opening the bottle with his right hand, his left remained on Robb's hip, fingers digging into the soft skin below. He poured some oil over them both, clasped his hand around them, _finally_, pulled two hard strokes, which made Robb moan again, but moved on quickly with his hand. He slipped an arm under Robb's leg to get better access, their mouths locked all the time.

So, Robb’s cry of pained pleasure was muffled by their kiss which made Theon growl, the body beneath him trembling and he himself was already so close. Because it had never felt like this before, so intense, as if it was devouring him alive, as if he was about to vanish into pure lust.

Never in his life had he wanted something so much, never before had he been so hungry. He had waited so long for this moment so every emotion he felt right now hit him with such force that he could hardly breathe, could no longer think, only react.

“_Oh fuck_,” Robb cried out, grabbed his wrist, threw his head back, Theon watched his throat as he swallowed hard. His face twisted, biting on his lower lip as Theon removed his hand, replaced it, but paused just before that.

Robb looked up, his blue eyes like steel, flashing at him and Theon felt dazed, as if time had stopped.

“Do it,” he breathed, “I want it.”

So, very slowly Theon moved, pushed forward, watched Robb's face change, his mouth half open, his eyes narrowed. They had never been this close before. His whole body was trembling, now there was no turning back.

And then the waves broke over him, buried him under their weight, hard and desperate and oh so right, as if they were just melting together.

Theon pushed, holding his breath, gasping, when he slid insight, where it was so tight, he thought he’d lose it right then and there. And Robb gave a short shout of pleasure, another shudder ran though him, as Theon picked up speed. Both of them hissing each time he sank deep as their bodies slammed together, chasing their release. He felt Robb's hand between them, felt every movement, could hardly keep his eyes open but didn't want to miss a single second.

Then Robb suddenly cried out sharply, his throat exposed even more, his back bent as he came hard and covered his own stomach with hot white stripes.

It was this sight which finally brought Theon over the edge as well, snapping his hips only a couple more times before he collapsed on Robb with an aching groan. 

And for a few seconds the world stood still.

He waited for his breath to calm down, his eyes closed, listening only to Robb's rapid heartbeat, beating violently against his temple. Like a breeze, Theon felt a fingertip glide over his back, drawing patterns on his sweaty skin. Causing another wave of bliss to shoot through his body and he moaned softly, lips pressed against Robb's flushed chest.

_This is what love must feel like._

He didn't know what it was that made him say it, perhaps the urge to confess something, to reveal something, though the actual confession couldn't be put into words. He felt the need to finally say at least this, out loud, even if they both knew it already back then.

“I used to imagine this, as I fucked her, that one night. While I was watching you, sitting across the room, getting your cock sucked and staring at me with those intense blue eyes. I imagined it was you instead. I imagined it so often that it was you.” He sighed.

“So, did I,” Robb replied quietly, the smile heard in his voice, “then as so many times before.”

Theon finally forced himself to look up, propped himself up on his elbow and brushed the sweaty hair aside that stuck to his forehead. His eyes found Robbs and he smiled crookedly, finally realizing what they had just done. _By all gods why had they waited so long?_

“You can't marry her,” he said then without thinking. And to his surprise, the smile did not disappear from Robb's face.

“I know,” he whispered, gently stroking Theon's cheek with his thumb, “I won't.”

And suddenly there was hope again, even if it was small, because this decision was not up to Robb alone. But something had changed between them and a lot had to happen for Theon to go back to where they had been.

So he leaned forward, put his lips on Robb's, kissed him with everything it meant.

Hoping it won't be the last time for him to do so.


	13. Chapter 13

**ARYA**

She had always loved this time of the day.

The torches would be extinguished at Winterfell now. The smell of freshly baked bread would rise from the kitchen up to her chamber. And she’d hear the horses in the stables whinnying joyfully as their master would bring them their feed.

Here, in Gendry's world, the day began rather similar, yet so different. 

Like back home, she could watch the city come to life. Though now while sitting in the biggest carriage Arya had ever seen. It seemed as if there was room for more than a hundred people, but only a few seats were occupied.

Two young women were sitting opposite her, holding hands. One had her eyes closed, leaning with her forehead against the window of the carriage. The other had her head leaned on the first one’s shoulder, staring directly at Arya through big brown eyes, wide open.

Arya peered to her side to take one quick look at Gendry, who was also sitting there, leaning against the window, mirroring the position of the sleeping woman.

Without thinking about it, she followed the impulse and reached for his hand, linked their fingers just like the two girls sitting in front of her. She felt his twitch caused by her touch, probably because he had actually dozed off, but Arya didn't dare look at him. Instead, she let her head fall down on his shoulder, like the girl did. Staring at her, Arya now saw that she was smiling.

She smiled back.

And while she continued her watch, she didn’t see the little grin which had appeared on Gendry’s face as well.

The carriage kept stopping and people getting in and out. How the coachman was informed about this remained a mystery. She hadn't even seen him once during their entire journey.

But finally, they reached their own designation, by now the city left far behind. There were only a few castles to be seen, crowded streets replaced by wide meadows and here and there even a few cows. It felt much more familiar than the area Gendry lived in.

They walked along a stony narrow road and then arrived at a farm with a large gate made of iron curved bars, overgrown with ivy in a few places. It was a masterpiece of smithery, and Arya wondered if Gendry had made this. Then suddenly she heard a voice.

_“You're late today,” _a little pause; the voice was one of a man,_ “and I think I already see what's been holding you up.”_

He approached them from one of the stables, with brown eyes and an ordinary face weathered by the elements. His beard and thinning brown hair were peppered with gray. And as he came closer and raised a hand in greeting, Arya realized that the first joints of the fingers of his left hand were missing.

_“Sorry,”_ said Gendry next to her, _“the car broke down yesterday. We had to take the train.” _

_“We?”_ the man replied, looking at Arya, a crooked smile on his lips.

_“Um, well, this is Arya,”_ Gendry pointed at her, probably introducing. _“Unfortunately, she doesn't speak English.”_

_“Na denn, geht mir sowieso nicht so leicht von den Lippen.“_

The man smiled at her, but Arya still didn't understand a word, looked from him to Gendry with her eyes narrowed.

_“Uh, and no German either,”_ Gendry continued, whereupon the man snorted.

_“Well, whatever language she speaks, I assume you understand each other quite well, don’t you?” _

To her surprise, Arya saw Gendry blushing and now she had to grin herself, she liked the man if he could cause such thing. She liked this look on Gendry’s face. _“She –, she's in town for a holiday,” _he babbled, _“and I couldn't leave her alone in the city.”_

_“I see,”_ the man winked at her, _“well, I hope she doesn't keep you from work. There's a lot to do. You have to go to the smithy today, and I'll finish the rings for the Meyers. The gate for the graveyard in Wernsdorf must be ready tomorrow, they're having some kind of memorial service. Think you can handle it?”_

Gendry nodded beside her and they followed the man to a large barn. Though as they entered it, Arya's eyes widened. Because, as it seemed, Gendry was _indeed_ a blacksmith

The two men exchanged a few more words, but she didn't pay them anymore attention instead she examined the many metal objects around her, curious, eager to touch the things which looked familiar and the ones that didn’t.

Heavy chandeliers, sculptures and single parts of gates stood around her. The forms were hard and robust on one hand but also fine and slightly curved in some other places. Several buckets of black coal stood scattered on the floor and in one of the back corners a huge oven with hot embers glowed as Arya assumed.

And then her eyes fell on a row of swords leaning against the wall beside her. She reached for one and balanced it in her hand.

It was lighter than she thought, not like Ice, her father's sword, and not like Longclaw, Jon's sword. She could hold it with one hand, rotating her wrist and pulling a stroke whose sound cut through the air.

Like dancing she took a few steps forward, testing how it felt to move with it, as if it was an extension of her arm. She spun, swinging like she was about to strike down her opponent right away, as the sound of steel on steel echoed through the forge and blue eyes met her greys.

She looked at him and watched his brow twitch. Not knowing what to expect, she tapped the tip of her sword against his as a test. Gendry smirked and she couldn't help but do the same.

His standing was completely wrong, not sideways but straight, showed her his whole chest and thus offered her far too large a target. With two quick steps to the side she could break through his cover and tapped his ribs with the tip of her sword. Now she grinned wider and he no longer.

This procedure repeated itself a few more times until Gendry finally lost his patience and started to attack seriously. But she could easily evade him, jumped to the side with a superior grin and let him run into nothing but air.

Yet she couldn’t stop admiring his strength, the way his arm muscles flexed, his sleeves rolled up. And suddenly she realized one thing; he swung his sword like a fucking hammer_._ In no worlds could this be a coincidence.

After he hadn't touched her even after the third attempt, he finally gave up, shook his head, but smiled anyway. _“I bet _you_ don't need a knight to protect you from monsters, eh?” _

She just shrugged, but still grinned and then watched as he finally got to work, started to fire up the oven, his strong hands covered with soot a short time later.

And like this, time passed until the sun finally stood in the middle of the sky.

She tried all the different swords, trained some more, but took many breaks between to watch Gendry shaping metal, working it with his hammer, the sweat on his forehead, hands and clothes black and dirty. She felt the weight of Theon's vial constantly in the thin pocket of her pants.

With a deep groan Gendry lifted the heavy metal he had just prepared to the side, a sound that sent a warm shiver through Arya's body. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with a dirty hand, he then came towards her.

_“You’re hungry?”_ he asked, rubbing his belly.

He left her alone for a moment, encouraged her to wait by showing her his outstretched palm, giving her time to collect herself. Who would have thought blacksmithing would stir such feelings inside her?

A short time later he came back, a black bag over his shoulder, a blanket and another brown bag under his arm.

They then walked around the forge, sat down under a tree behind it. Sitting on the spread-out blanket, they shared bread and sausage from the brown bag and listened to the sounds around them. It was quiet, almost peaceful, a mood that usually drove her mad, made her restless. It didn’t suit her thirst for adventure, but here in the shade of the tree, together with Gendry, she could actually enjoy it.

Quite lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed him watching her, with a slender smile on his lips, his eyes sparkling. She felt herself blushing and immediately frowned at him, “what?”

But he just shook his head, the smile remained on his face, then stood up, grabbed the black bag and offered her his hand to pull her up, _“come, I want to show you something.”_

It was a real pity that she didn't understand what he was saying, and yet she liked the sound of his voice. Deep and reassuring, she suspected that he had this effect on many people. Like her father, or Robb and Jon. It was the kind of voice that made people listen.

The place he led them to reminded her strongly of the archery range in Winterfell. Targets were set up around them, between them stood a cut-off tree trunk.

Gendry put the black bag on the ground, took out a silver thing. It was round, sparkling in the sun, looked like a jug, or was it a vase? He put it on the tree trunk, then came back, taking another thing out of the bag, something that looked like a long brown stick.

However, the stick had been worked, decorated with black metal, the lower end wider, as if it had been carved and sharpened. She looked at Gendry confused and suddenly realized he seemed nervous. Even though she saw no reason to be nervous. _What was he about to do with the stick?_

With his eyes briefly closed, he gave a short sigh, then opened them again, lifted the stick upwards, the thin end pointing directly at the silver vase.

He pressed his cheek against the thick end of it, the palm of his left hand held it up, stabilized it, his right eye pinched together. She didn't understand what he was doing and yet his whole posture reminded her of an archer, when suddenly a hiss cut through the air and the silver vase fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

Her mouth dropped open.

_It was _indeed _a weapon._

When he lowered the stick to look at her again, he still seemed tense, his brows tightened, but then he chuckled slightly when he saw her expression. She knew she was beaming. No chance to do otherwise. For what was that thing, a straight bow for which you didn't even need arrows?

He beckoned her to come closer, and she almost jumped, not able to hide her excitement and completely forgot to keep up the confident expression of the last few hours.

When he gave her the stick, it was heavier than she’d expected it to be. Standing behind her so he could reposition her body, his chest was warm, pressed against her back. A touch which distracted for a second, preventing her from understanding what he was doing.

_“See that?”_ with his index finger he moved to a small point on the wood, then to a small hollow a little further towards her eyes. He kept driving his finger between these two things, up and down the stick. Then he lifted it somewhat more, so that it was at Arya's eye level and she could see the small point through the hollow.

Then suddenly he took a step back, went to the tree stump and put the vase back up, which now looked a little more deformed than before.

Her back felt cold, although the sun was shining directly down on her, his lack of presence behind her immediately noticeable. But two breaths later he was there again, correcting her posture so that stick, point and hollow were directed at the vase in one line. _It really was like archery._

His right hand closed around hers, his scent blew around her nose, sweat and coal and bread and something unique, his very own. It quickened her heartbeat and she felt her breath getting heavier.

Despite his strength, his movements were soft, almost tender. Gently he pulled her hand to the back of the stick where she felt a small hole. He put her index finger there, put his over hers, pulling her fingers back a little, as if he was drawing a bow.

Their eyes still directed further towards the vase as he pulled back some more.

Then again there was another hiss as the stick pressed hard against her shoulder and Arya's body was torn back against the warm one behind her, feeling each of his tense muscles. So, when she looked back front, she saw that the vase had remained untouched.

But she’d seen it, something small and black had shot out of the end of the stick, like an arrow. And she was fascinated by that. Because what kind of weapon was this? _Had Gendry himself built it?_

Then her thoughts were suddenly interrupted as he came even one more step closer. Now his whole body touched her back. His broad chest, his groin right against her bottom. She had to bite her lip, not make a sound that would reveal her feelings.

She was so tense and excited and only half of it got anything to do with that strange thing in her hands. When he raised it again, pressed his cheek against hers, his breath was tickling her neck, which caused a shiver to run down her spine.

_“Do you feel it?”_ he whispered.

“Yes,” she breathed, whatever he had said, just _yes_.

He pulled their fingers back.

Again, the hiss.

Again, she was pressed against him, but this time she was prepared.

And her eyes widened, as the vase fell to the ground.

Adrenaline rushed through her body; her fingertips were tingling. She turned her head slightly so she could look at him. A narrow smile on his face and his mouth was suddenly so close to hers. If she turned her head a little more, she could kiss him.

She did, turned a little more, letting out a small sigh as she felt his warm breath on her cheek.

So close. He was so close.

Her eyes fell on his lips.

But then there was a sound. Branches cracked by upcoming footsteps. And then suddenly a coughing came from behind them, making them jump apart. _Why the fuck did this keep happening?_

Then she saw her.

Arya knew it was only a matter of time before they would meet again and yet she took a small step back as she watched her standing there, right next to Gendry’s Master. This woman meant nothing good and with her eyes narrowed she stared at her, her long red hair glistening in the sun.

_How had she found her? Why her? Why not Robb or Theon?_

“It is good to see you Lady Stark; I think we have a lot to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a super long chapter where their obsession with weapons kinda got out of hand ...  
Though, I feel like I have to say, that I do tolerate this sort of thing only in fiction. Really, in my opinion, no one needs to own a gun in their personal life!! But for Gendrya... it's kind of their thing, isn't it?  
I hope you guys enjoyed it though, and haven't been too disturbed by it :)


	14. Chapter 14

**GENDRY**

“_Lady_ Stark?” he asked, looking from Arya to this red woman, to Mr. Seewert and back to Arya. So, she was _indeed_ highborn. At least that explained the dagger. “And who are you?” he addressed the woman, took one step forward, because something about her made his hair stand on end. She meant trouble; he was sure about it right away.

“Sorry to interrupt you guys,” his boss said, “the lady here _insisted_ on seeing you, the two of you.” He nodded towards Arya; his eyes filled with pity. Gendry knew what they had looked like, the air gun still in his right hand, hanging heavy down his arm. The warmth of her breath still felt on his cheek.

There was a movement behind him, and he peered to the side just to see that there was nothing of the happy expression left on Arya's face. Frowning, she had crossed her arms in front of her chest, _“leave us alone.”_

_So, they know each other_.

The red woman didn't even flinch, took another step forward, and Gendry did the same, tried to stand in front of Arya, tried to shield her, the same moment Arya tried to shield him, so their shoulders bumped together, colliding hard.

It must have looked rather stupid, for his boss to let out a slight chuckle, while he rubbed his hand across his face, shaking his head.

“What do you want?” Gendry asked, now frowning himself, when he regained his footing, his shoulder stinging from the impact.

A small smile formed on the red woman’s lips. “I need to take Lady Stark back where she belongs.”

_“No.”_

Only then did Gendry realize that Arya understood what she was saying. As it seemed, they spoke the same language and yet they didn't, for he understood her as well. He looked from one woman to another. “How is that possible? You understand what she's saying?” The last question addressed to Arya but of course she didn't understand _him_, as usual.

But this woman did. And all the questions that had been going through his mind in the last hours, days, shot wildly through his head. _You like it here? Do you want to stay with me? Do you feel it, too?_ It seemed stupid to ask the woman to translate when she finally went on.

“The Lord of Light speaks many languages, but only the true believers can understand them.”

_Well, fuck. _Gendry hated religion.

His mother was a Catholic and even as a child he had wondered why she had always dragged him to church, what she expected from talking to an invisible man somewhere on a cloud. Even if he didn’t understand the whole concept behind religion at that time, he had his doubts. Only later did he realize that once again it was all about money.

There was an organization, one of the richest in the world, who took away some responsibility of those people who joined them, but only if they regularly gave them their money, threw their savings into the condolence fund every fucking Sunday.

Just like his mother, who had always given him the evil eye whenever he’d told her to rather buy a new car with it. One they didn't always have to park on a hill to get it started ever again. She had not listened to him, had continued talking to the invisible man. Every morning after getting up, every night before going to sleep.

Though _he_ couldn't help her; he couldn't make sure that his father came back after he'd left them or that in the evening, they had food on their table. Even though she’d thanked him for it every time again. And that was just _one_ of the reasons Gendry hated religion.

“You have to go back,” the woman said, back on facing Arya, her dark eyes sparkled dangerously, “you and your brother, before it's too late.”

_“That’s none of your business.”_

_Back where?_ Gendry asked himself.

His fingertips were tingling now as he stood there, the solution of the mystery of the last days within reach. He was pretty sure she wouldn't say _Alaska_ and was now torn between the desire for truth and the last spark of hope he had, that there was a _reasonable_ explanation for all this.

Something was wrong, something had happened that Arya had even had the chance to meet him and this woman seemed to have come to fix it. But did he even want her to? Even if they couldn't talk, even if Arya didn't even understand the principle behind a shower, did he want it to be fixed? Did he want her to disappear again and the last few days to just be as if they'd never happened?

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. There was something between them, a connection he had never felt with another woman before and he couldn't just ignore it. Still he finally asked in a husky voice, “back where?”

For that little smile to reappear on the face of the red woman, as if she had read his thoughts. “Back to her own time.”

And there it was.

He suddenly didn't dare to look at Arya anymore, didn't dare to look at his boss who would surely fire him for dragging him into this freak show, just stared at the woman. His voice was hardly more than a whisper, “and when is that?”

She reached out for him, put her palm on his cheek as if he were a child she wanted to calm down. Her touch was like fire as her fingers lay on his skin, which made Arya take a sharp breath next to him. But the woman didn't mind her reaction, instead she stared deeply into his eyes.

“A time many thousand years away from here, where winters last for decades, and where dragons rule the skies while kings rule the grounds.”

_Did she just say dragons?_

_“Stop touching him!”_ Arya finally snapped and tore her hand away from his face, still he couldn't avoid his jaw dropping down when she stepped back and reached into her red coat to take out a card. She gave it to him, an address written on it. The card was red like everything else.

“Don't wait too long,” she said, her dark eyes now turned back on Arya. “The light is fading, and the shadows are rising, the balance must be regained before it is too late. And fate has more important things in store for you.” Her eyes flitted back to him, she nodded briefly. “Mr. Waters, or shall I say Mr. Baratheon?”

What? _Who?_

She did not wait for his answer, turned to go, her long red coat blowing in the wind, but stopped again just beside his boss. “It was good to see you again, Ser Davos.”

With an utterly perplexed expression on his face she left him standing as well, leaving all three of them behind. Gendry still holding the rifle in one hand, her card in the other. _What just happened here?_ (though deep inside his head he had already reached the conclusion, but something was blocking his thoughts to fully complete themselves).

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. “Take the rest of the day off, boy.”

And Mr. Seewert himself looked as if he could take a break when Gendry finally put the rifle in his hand, stuck the red card in his pocket and beckoned Arya to follow him, pitiful looks, and probably a bit confused ones, burning into his back.

They didn't look at each other, didn't make jokes, hardly touched each other, if only by accident, and not even the subway seemed to cause any reaction from Arya. It all seemed pointless. Because she had to go back, not sometime, but now. And he felt so ridiculous that he had put his hopes such high, that he had gotten so carried away with it. Thinking about all the things he wanted to show her, for what?

Still bitter, he stuck his key into the lock of his apartment, opened the door but then suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. “What the FUCK?”

There were brown footprints all over the parquet, a glance into his kitchen showed him that his coffee tin had fallen onto the floor, brown powder just _everywhere_. Turning back, taking another step forward into the living room, he saw Theon and Robb sitting there on the floor, naked from the waist up, around them a bunch of herbs, in front of them one of his cooking pots and next to them a bottle of olive oil, poured out, which had already left a huge dark stain on the carpet.

Arya peered over his shoulder from behind his back and it was the first time in hours that he heard her making a sound that seemed to be a happy one. _“What by all gods are you doing?" _she chuckled.

_“What's it look like? We’ll make a new potion to bring us back home.”_ Theon said and grabbed an hourglass which was standing next to him on the table, shaking it with a grin and then got back to work.

Gendry was about to shout at them, that they’d ravaged his whole damn apartment, even though he knew it was no use, because they wouldn't understand him after all. But the frustration and anger of the last few hours was getting to him, more than he cared to admit. He opened his mouth to utter his first insult when Arya spoke first.

_“I'm not going back.”_

_“What?”_ Both men turned their eyes on her.

_“You heard me well,”_ she spoke to her brother now,_ “I'm staying.”_

_“You most certainly will not.”_ Meanwhile he was on his feet, standing in front of her with a deeply grim expression on his face.

What followed was a fight like Gendry hadn't seen for a long time. At the beginning only a little tense, they were shouting obviously frustrated at each other towards the end. Robb's curls were a mess because he had pulled at them so often, whenever Arya had spoken against him, her face iron and stubborn throughout the whole time. The only one who still seemed calm was Theon, as if this was not the first time he had experienced something like that.

_“And I tell you, you _will_ come back with me! Even if I have to tie you up to pour your damn blood into this stupid pot!”_ Robb’s outstretched finger pointed right at her face.

_“Well try that!”_ she screamed back, spinning on her heels and running out of the apartment, so fast that none of them were quick enough to stop her. Instead, all three of them stared at the open door until Robb finally cursed again and kicked furiously against the cooking pot, spilling the ripped herbs on the carpet right next to the puddle of olive oil.

And why, after all that had happened in the last few days, Gendry still didn't have enough? Didn’t throw these guys out of his apartment and be done with it? Why did he instead run after her, even if he didn't have the faintest idea where she had disappeared to?

Because he just couldn't let her go. It was that simple.

And all his thoughts focused only on this, he had not noticed how a small red card had slipped out of his trouser pocket, now slowly floating through the air like a feather. Landing on his carpet, added to coffee, olive oil and all kinds of different herbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, the last days were really crazy, everyone around me is in panic, everybody is desperately buying the last noodles and toilet paper, it's really totally surreal. So, I can definitely relate to Gendry's feeling of _wtf is going on_ ... I hope you're all well and that you did enjoy this chapter! Take care of yourself :)


	15. Chapter 15

**ROBB**

He uttered a loud growl, drove his fingers through his red curls, again, causing a look Robb had quite often these days.

He knew better than to run after her, during their whole lives he’d spent hours trying to find her after an argument ... in vain. If Arya didn't want to be found, she had her ways and means. Gendry would soon find out himself. _Should he try his luck_, Robb thought, still feeling bitter and annoyed.

Turning around, he saw Theon leaning against the wall at the other end of the room, one eyebrow arched. And even if he didn't want to, he couldn't help but snap, the bliss that had surrounded him just a few moments ago vanished into thin air. “What.”

Theon however did not answer, just stared at him from black pupils, still grinning, even if it didn't reach his eyes.

At that Robb felt a stabbing headache spreading slowly. So, frustrated with a low growl, he let himself fall onto the padded bench standing behind him and buried his face in his hands. “Why does she have to be so damn stubborn?”

“If you knew her family, you wouldn't ask.”

Without looking at him, Robb was sure Theon was still smirking and couldn't suppress the slight chuckle that climbed up his own throat as he rubbed his hand over his eyes, sighed and laid his head back. “Doesn't she understand that we _have to_ go back?”

“Well, do we?”

He tore his eyes back open, looked at him, discovered that Theon's smile had thinned some more. Still drawn across his face, most people probably won't be able to tell the difference, Theon almost always smiled. Though Robb could read him like an open book.

But now, with this new thing between them, still so thin, so fragile, now he didn’t know what to do about it. Should he comfort him? Touch him? He did nothing like that when his eyes fell on his hands. “What you got there?”

“This?” Theon held a red card between his index and ring finger, flicked it so that the front was facing Robb. Bright red with a fire emblem.

“Where did you find it?”

“Fell out of his pocket when he ran after her.”

He got up, walked towards him and took the card.

_That red_.

If they hadn't seen her get into that yellow carriage the night before, who knows, maybe he wouldn't have thought of her at all. But something told him that this was no coincidence, the card had something to do with the priestess and it was the key to bring them back home, he was sure.

“I think we must start searching again,” Robb murmured, twisted the thick paper between his fingers. “You're with me, right?” he asked, somewhat insecure, as he looked back up.

Though the little sigh Theon let out immediately eased his mind, watching as Theon licked his lips, finally a crooked grin appeared back on his face, and Robb recognized the glow in his eyes now that they were standing this closer together. _By all gods, had he always looked at him that way?_

“Like you could do on your own,” Theon said then, shrugging with a smirk and Robb felt his heart take a little jump at those words, warmth rushed through his body, reached his cheeks, “but we need to clean up first.”

Their chests were still covered with brown powder, smeared where it had mixed with sweat. And Robb could still feel it, the places Theon had touched him, where they’d been so deeply connected.

He knew that Theon was afraid, even when he tried to hide it behind his usual smug face. Afraid that all this would be forgotten when they'd return to Winterfell, and he himself had his own doubts. But how could they now go back to where they’d been? Knowing how it had felt, how it still felt. Finally admitted that they both wanted _this_. That they'd both waited so long for it to happen.

_No more waiting._

So, Robb stepped forward, pulled Theon by his neck and pressed them together.

To him it was still a miracle how perfectly their bodies fit, their lips locked like sword and sheath. And he kissed him with so much strength, not afraid to hurt him, not afraid to crush him as the same strength was returned to him. No maiden would he ever have kissed like that. But this, it felt so natural, so right.

Slightly out of breath they detached themselves from each other, Theon's black eyes stared at him, hungry. “You want a second round?”

And Robb wanted nothing more than to give in, to pounce on him and sink into him, but instead he took a step back. The sense of responsibility and duty was running too deep through his veins. “Not now, but soon.”

So_, soon_ seemed to come faster for Theon than Robb had guessed and weak as he was, he could only resist him the first time but no second.

Hence the sky was pitch black as they finally left Gendry’s home, wearing some strange clothes from Gendry’s closet, since their own things had not survived the actions of the afternoon completely unscathed. 

With flushed cheeks and shaky legs, they stepped on the street, the whole city was full of brightly colored lights, still loud, still crowded with so many people around them.

At first, they kept looking on their own, eyes searching the area for the fire symbol on the card, red signs, something that gave them a new clue. But time went by and they still weren't any the wiser. Until Theon took the card out of Robb’s hand and went to a man standing next to him at the side of the road, showing it to him with a questioning look.

Alas the man shook his head and so did the next one, and also the one after couldn't help them either. But after a few more attempts a young woman finally knew more, drew them a map, after she realized that none of them understood a word of her explanation.

Leading them to a building surrounded by many others, large windows marked the front, but one could not see inside, heavy red curtains obscured the view. The red fire symbol was shining ominously above the door, yellow light from countless candles enveloped them as they entered the room.

And there she stood.

All in red, like the last time Robb had seen her on the battlefield, with her back to them. A cold shiver went through his body, resembling the tension in Theon's shoulders, as he passed him by towards the woman, coughing to draw her attention. 

“I was already expecting you,” she said, but still did not turn around, “the flames told me.” A glass of wine stood beside her on a small table, she took a sip, then finally set her eyes on Robb. “King in the North.”

_Who?_

A voice told him to leave this place as quickly as possible, something unpredictable was coming from that woman, and yet he was frozen, could not move and just kept staring at her until she finally looked away from him and turned her gaze at Theon.

“And you, young prince, healthier and stronger than the last time we met.” She put down the glass, walked towards him and took his left hand in hers, pressed her thumb at the skin between his index and ring finger, then drove along them while Theon was standing there, rigid, obviously irritated and did not say a word either, “it was an expensive price for your betrayal, wasn’t it?”

At that, Robb felt a sudden urge to stop this, to stand in front of him, a tingling in his fingertips, the need to push this woman away, protect him from any harm she was about to cause. Like she'd read his mind, she let go of Theon and gave him a light smile.

“Love can lead us to great folly,” she hushed, “but we follow our hearts ... wherever they take us. Weren't those your words, Mylord?”

“I – what, what words?” anger rising again, burning deep down inside him, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like I said, this is not the first time we met, and it won’t be the last.” She strolled back to her glass, letting her long red dress slide across the dark wooden floor. “For all of us, there is more than one life to live. Maybe in one we are kings, yet in another we’re just only a slave.”

The last words were addressed to Theon, who, despite his obvious insecurity, emitted a quiet chuckle.

It had no impact on her. Showing just the slightest sign of a reaction, she gave him a hard stare, cutting through him like a sharpened knife cuts a white sheet of parchment. “I know your soul has seen some dark places, torn apart by those you trusted.”

They both stared at her, unsure what to answer. But as Robb's eyes flitted aside, he saw Theon's posture change, hands clenched in fists, no longer able to sustain the degrading smile to mask his anxiety. “What's this nonsense?” he replied between clenched teeth, “you telling me, in some other world I'm somebody's _slave_?” 

“No slave,” she said, her eyes turned to stone, “but something even worse.”

“_Watch_ your tongue,” Theon growled, raising his voice, breath came shaking through his nose, for Robb to take a step forward, filling the gap between them and putting a hand on Theon's chest, feeling his heart beating fast against his palm. To his relief he saw his shoulders sink with his touch, dark eyes still narrowed but finally shaking his head and taking one step back.

Then Robb looked at the red woman again. “Enough of this. Tell us what you know.”

Yet she remained silent, just staring deeply at him, so he tried a new attempt. “What's it you're trying to say? Like there are different worlds? This one and ours?”

“Some call it worlds, some call it universes, some call it different lives, rebirth, but yes. And you Mylord, have managed to cross the Light and create an imbalance in those worlds,” she looked at him seriously, “this must be reversed as soon as possible.”

“_Or what_?” Theon sneered at her, “or your flames start to shiver?” He was now standing at the back of the room, his hands crossed in front of his chest, anger still in his eyes even if the smile on his face had found its usual place.

“You may be in disbelief, but there is no doubt. Each of us has his place and this one is not yours. It belongs to another you whose path you shall not cross.”

“This is ridiculous,” Theon breathed, but somehow Robb started to believe her, his thoughts were spinning as Theon took yet another step forward, “you're saying that there's another _me_ running around here?” Then he paused, his face turning a little softer, “another _us _?” moving his index finger from himself to Robb and back again.

She nodded.

Turning his head, their eyes met and Robb knew that they were both thinking the same question, _was there even an _us _in this world?_

What followed was silence, everything completely quiet, not even the loud noises from the street could be heard, and the tightness that spread across Robb's chest told him that she was speaking the truth. It wasn't hard these days to convince him of such things ...

“This is a fucking waste of time,” Theon snorted then, breaking the silence, “Robb, let's go. Just leave her to her candles.”

But he couldn't, he knew, absurd as it sounded, that this woman wasn't lying, that she knew much more than either of them could imagine. Whether she read it in the flames or was told by gods or the wind. She spoke the language of magic, and it was magic that had brought them here in the first place.

That’s why instead of moving closer to the door, he went a step further towards her, looked deep into her eyes, his voice low and firm.

“So … can you bring us back home?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was my first time writting f/m smut, I hope you're not disappointed! If this is not your thing, feel free to skip this chapter, it's really just porn with lots of feelings or maybe lots of feelings with some porn .... enjoy! :)

**ARYA**

When she heard the approaching footsteps she stopped immediately, knowing that it was neither Robb nor Theon who’d followed her. The first had given up on that years ago, having spent too many hours already searching for her inside the empty towers and long cold corridors of Winterfell. And the later, Arya was sure, gave a flying fuck about her wandering around alone in a strange city with nowhere to go.

So, when his strong hand finally reached her shoulder, she hesitated not even a second.

And really, it could have been the perfect kiss, passionate, devoted, spontaneous. If only she had hit his mouth instead of the lower edge of his nose, and if he’d been prepared for it instead of stumbling back, irritation written all over his face. Perhaps this was another sign from the gods she should finally give some recognition to.

She took a step back, feeling the blush on her cheeks slowly burning her skin, and turned her head to avoid looking at Gendry, concentrating instead on the myriads of people walking past them.

Though this hadn’t been her first kiss.

She had forced the son of a butcher, Mycah, who had visited Winterfell with his father a year before, to try it out. Just because she’d been curious why everyone was making such a fuss. The result had been disillusioning. But somehow, she had thought it would be different with Gendry. Now that she’d felt that feeling in her stomach again, that feeling that spread throughout her body and made her fingertips tickle.

When she finally dared to look back at him, he’d come closer again, watching her with his beautiful blue eyes, no longer irritated, but so intense. With a little crooked smile on his face, which disappeared a short time later when he put one hand on her neck and his lips on hers.

And _that_, that was _finally_ the kiss she’d been waiting for.

Breathtaking, world-shattering. And this time, when she pressed herself against him, he held his ground, didn't flinch, didn't push her away, but kept her firmly with his hands at her hip while she buried hers in his thick black hair.

And so, this close together, forgetting the world around them, they stood there for a while, letting the people around them pass by, soft chuckles could be heard but she paid them no attention. Until the grin on Gendry’s face forced its way back, for Arya to feel it on her lips. She leaned back to see it with her own eyes (and also to finally let some air back into her lungs).

He glanced at her, his eyes flashed around Arya’s face as if taking it all in. And just this, him looking at her this way, it gave her a high she’d never experienced before in her life.

To suppress the smile on her own face to widen to a point where it could be no longer contained, she started to chew on her lip but still didn’t dare turn her eyes away from him.

_“We should go back and kick these other two out of my apartment,”_ he breathed, his flushed cheeks matching her own.

Not understanding a single word, she put her head at an angle, studied his face, checking if he'd said something about them stopping, that it was wrong or some other crap that men like Jon or Robb might say in such a situation. Though the expression on his face proved her wrong.

That’s why she nodded, trusting him not to send her away.

And then he took her hand in his, warm and solid, held her tight as if _he_ was afraid, _she_ would leave him (as if that would happen) and led her back in the direction they had come from. Back to the place where he lived, where Robb and Theon would probably be waiting for her, ready for another reprimand, telling her how irresponsible she was. Arya was ready to tell them just to fuck off.

But she didn't need to, because when they put their foot through the door, none of them was anywhere to be found. They were alone. The room exactly as they'd left it, herbs, oil and brown powder still spread on the floor, but no trace of her brother or Theon.

It was so quiet she could hear her breath.

Then, behind her, the door fell shut and although there was this part of her that really wanted this, that demanded this, revolving all around her thoughts, there was another part that suddenly got nervous, that was unsure what would happen next. Excited, yes, but still nervous.

Yet she wanted this. _Fuck_, how much she wanted this, wanted to touch him more than she wanted her next breath.

“_Do you want to …_” he said, obviously a bit nervously himself, nodding his head in the direction of his bedchamber, while Arya realized she’d been staring at his mouth through the whole time. Then shaking herself, she turned her head, looking into the other room, her eyes fell on his bed as well.

_“But we don't have to … I – shit, and of course you got no idea what I'm talking about_,” he rubbed his hand over his eyes, then glanced back at her, giving a slight chuckle, so it was the look he gave her, that send all of Arya’s nerve endings alight.

The final push for her to put him out of his misery by taking his hand and dragging him to the bed, not knowing if it was the right thing to do, but she had often heard Theon talking about how some ladies with whom he had spent his nights did exactly that, and that most men liked it. And Gendry seemed to like it too, grinning his crooked grin, he let himself be led by her without complaining.

They kissed again before they even reached the mattress, greedy and rushed, but still smiling against each other’s lips, no longer able to keep their joy only inside their mind.

But kissing was no longer enough.

The feeling in Arya's belly had turned into a fire, burning through her whole body, every vein inflamed, spreading with each of his touches. She wanted to feel his skin, she wanted him to feel hers, and when she pulled on his shirt to free him from it, he let her. And despite trembling hands she finally got rid of her own clothes, then jumped back on him to give him no opportunity to look at her, to see the tension in her eyes, to see that she was nervous like all seven hells.

He opened his mouth to her as he pulled her down on top of him, arms wrapped around each other.

Sitting in his lap, she kissed him with all her strength, clung tightly to his shoulders, their mouths melting, tongues dancing. When she suddenly felt something hard between them, rubbing against her, causing another shiver that went through her body. Causing although another voice to appear inside of her head.

_Don’t want a little snowflake yourself, do you?_

_Shit_, she had almost forgotten, climbed down from him hectically, turned her back to him and pulled the vial out of her pocket, then knocked it down in one go without thinking about it. But as she finally turned around again, it was the sight of him that made her pause.

Muscular and flushed he lay there, with a trail of black hair that disappeared into his waistband and eyes narrowed, his mouth half open, letting out a low gasp. She wanted to hear that sound again, climbed back on his lab and pressed their mouths together, her hand on his shoulder, digging in hard, breathing heavily.

But then he stopped _her_, placing a hand over hers, slowing her down and calming the trembling that now dominated her whole body. _“Relax,”_ he purred, leaning forward so that he could whisper into her ear.

She sighed at that, loved the way he spoke, so calm, despite the tension she could feel in his arms, in his grip. Like that time outside the tavern after she drank the poisoned brown liquid. Sliding his hands over her naked back, fingertips gently pressing into her neck, he reversed their positions, leaving a trail of kisses as he moved down slowly until he reached her pants.

It was a single glance asking for permission, when she nodded slightly, swallowed a thick lump in her throat, and he freed her from her last piece of cloth.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a second, the thudding of her heart overpowering all other sounds in the room. But just for a few seconds, as she tore her lids wide open, when he buried his face between her thighs and kissed her … _there. _

_Licked her. _

_There._

It wasn't supposed to happen like this, was it? For a man to be with a woman like this? Touching here _there,_ with his _mouth,_ instead of his …

She had no chance to think any further as a wave of pleasure rushed through her body and made her moan without being able to swallow it down. All nerves and senses focused on his tongue and what he did with it as she pulled his hair, desperate for anything to hold on to.

Now he groaned and she trembled even more, her legs shaking by now.

And her eyes rolled back at this overwhelming feeling, deep in her core, starting to explode. She clenched as he picked up speed, biting her lip to fight another moan to leave her mouth. Squirming under him, it happened way to fast and all of a sudden.

She met his eyes as the pleasure rolled through her, body seizing, back arched and a choked cry on her lips, while he moaned and lapped at her all through her orgasm.

He kept going till it became too much, then slowed down his pace, finally stopping with a last kiss on her thigh, for her to fall back on the bed, weightless and exhausted, every single muscle in her body relaxed and satisfied. For she no longer cared at all if _this_ was even a thing a lord and lady would do together.

Pity on them if they missed it.

When she opened her eyes again, looked down, realized what he was doing, how his arm moved violently between his legs, she wasn't trembling anymore, wasn't nervous, just knew that she wanted to give him the same feeling he’d given her.

So, putting her hand under his chin, she forced him to look back up, his eyes so hungry, full of desire. At what she grinned, blissfully undone and beckoned him with two fingers up to her, kissed him with relish, tasted herself on his tongue and closed her hand around him.

She wasn’t knowing if she was doing the right thing at all, just twisted her wrist and pulled a stroke, for him to hiss at the contact and grunting, he thrusted into her hand.

Twice, thrice.

And then came himself, covering her hand with hot white fluid, groaning loudly and burying his face in her neck. A smile forming on her lips, because _this_, to feel his body tense up, tremble, like hers did just a few seconds ago, was perhaps an even better feeling.

And she alone was responsible for that.

They laid there in silence afterwards, their heart thumping against each other, Gendry’s lips not leaving her skin, not even when his breathing became more steady and slow.

Turning her head slightly, she tried to look at him, but then noticed that he had fallen asleep, thick lashes touching his cheeks. And with a little smile still on her face she stroked his hair, made herself comfortable in the pillows and closed her own eyes.

For her to rest now as well, everything else might come later.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dears, please excuse the late update! I had a little writer's block within the last two weeks, but now it's getting better and I'm already working on the next chapter. I hope you enjoy this one! :)  
hard to believe there're only 3 chapters left ...

**THEON**

He felt confused, itchy, and fucking vulnerable for there was no other damn feeling he hated more than this, rubbing the place between his index and ring finger where this witch had touched him, while they walked back to Gendry’s house in silence.

One night, then they’d return to this witch's house and the red woman would bring them back to Winterfell, however she hadn't said, but Robb didn't seem to care. Had only nodded, appearing relieved, and left the building without another word. Where Theon had had no choice but to walk after him like a loyal dog.

_You’re with me, right?_

Of course, he had said yes, of course he would always say yes. Like he could make a different decision, when those deep blue eyes stared at him so expectantly, even if the consequence was to leave this place and go back to a far grimmer reality. A reality where Robb would marry a wealthy princess and he was left to keep fucking his way through the brothels of the north or go back to Pyke and serve under Asha, a place just as foreign to him as this one.

And wasn’t it his own fault, because love makes a fool of everyone. His father had already told him at a young age. But when did Theon ever listen ...

Robb had said he wouldn’t marry her, though Theon knew he’d just given in to the same feeling that he himself had felt, exhausted and blissful, after they had lain together, a feeling which had caused _him_ to make such a request at all. Because that's the way humans were. Let them feel too strong emotions, be it a fight or sex, and their brain doesn't work properly anymore.

Now, Robb's action, his urge to return home as soon as possible, to leave this place where they could _be_ _together_ without anyone bothered by it, showed that he had finally changed his mind.

And as if that wasn't enough, this damn witch came and called him someone’s fucking slave?

_Your soul has seen some dark places. _

He would show her _some_ _dark places_ if he got the chance to. Show her her own fucking right place, overbearing arrogant woman that she was. How dare she talk to him like that. The only good thing about it was that he had noticed how much it had disturbed Robb as well, how his jaw had tightened, how much it had strained him to control himself.

Theon knew that Robb would jump into any blade for him, just like he would himself. No other person had ever meant so much to him. Robb was his brother, they belonged together. And now that they had finally managed to show that to each other, Robb just wanted to leave that behind?

It felt wrong. All of this felt just _wrong_.

He wasn't ready to face it. Had to rebuild his typical callous attitude so that he could meet Robb's rejection with his usual smug smirk.

That’s why, every time Robb had tried to start a conversation, Theon had just blocked it, had run one step faster, had ignored him, because _drowned_ _God_, why couldn’t he give him at least this one more evening. Just pretend till the next morning that everything would not fall apart. Because it would, even without Theon hearing words like _mistake_, _onetime_ or just _wrong_.

He ignored him again, as they reached Gendry’s place, just walked past Robb through the open door, disregarding the sad look in the other man's eyes when he whispered his name, even if it made his heart jump in his chest (he’d always loved it when Robb called his name).

Not paying attention if he was following, Theon kept his quick step until he was back in the room with the carpet full of oil, the many herbs on the floor and the brown powder. It made his guts clench, as he recalled _why_ the place looked like this, slumped annoyed into the cushioned chair in the back corner of the room.

Closed his eyes with a deep sigh, then opened them again, he recognized Arya sitting on the padded bench, face out of the window, knees pulled to her chest, not even turning her head when she spoke to him. “And, did you find her?”

“We certainly did,” Theon murmured, “and what have you been up to in the meantime?”

The expression on her face was enough to tell Theon everything he needed to know. Even in this subdued light he recognized the flush on her cheeks, how much her hair was tousled, as if it had been rubbed hard over a pillow, the glassy expression in her eyes. And then she lifted the little vial he’d given her, now relieved by its contents, and flicked it between her fingers with a meaningful grin.

He gave her an appreciative nod in return, probably her first time. He could hardly remember his own. It hadn't been bad, but not particularly good either, his performance still much too clumsy, everything over faster than it had started. But now it was something else. Now he knew exactly what he had to do to get a lover to squirm beneath his hands. 

And heat shot through him when he thought back to Robb and _their_ previous activity. Robb, who’d also writhed and bent, but had never given Theon the feeling that he alone was in control. Because Robb was strong and stubborn and matched his own strength, making things even so much more exciting.

Finally Theon couldn't help it and pointed with his chin in the direction of the large oil stain on the floor, let his brows twitch and saw for his amusement that Arya’s expression had hardened a bit, her grin a tad smaller.

“You’re serious?” she snorted then, “here on the floor?”

He shrugged, let the smile show itself, as it fought its way back on his face, “another competition in which you _simply_ will never beat me.”

She frowned at him but not for long, until the corners of her mouth were twitching, forming a little smile on her own lips, “we’ll see about that.”

And then she turned her eyes away, looked back out the window. For Theon couldn’t blame her, not even Arya Stark could stay grumpy after having obviously such good sex.

When Robb finally joined them, Theon’s mood was a bit better, at that he didn't avoid his gaze, but watched him taking a seat at the other side of the room, even felt a bit sorry for him. For one thing was certain, _Arya_ would not follow him blindly, back to a world where there was nothing left for her but boredom and cold halls.

“I have to talk to you,” Robb started, his eyes fluttered to Theon, demanding silent support while he told her without hesitation what the red woman had explained to them and that they would go back home the next morning.

As could be expected, her answer was simple and plain. “No.”

“Don't you want to understand?”

“I get you all right, and I did the first time. But I will stay here,” only now did she turn around, and looked at Robb.

“That's not for you to decide.”

“Yes, it is, and so is it for you. But _you_ may go back and live your life in Winterfell, unhappy, because _there_ you can never have what you wish for,” and at these words her eyes flitted briefly to Theon, “but I will not give that up. I won't leave him behind. Dumb enough if you do.”

The tension rose when Robb clenched his hands into fists on his knees. “What makes me _happy_ or _unhappy_ is hardly something for you to understand. But I'm certainly not going to leave you here just because some guy makes eyes at you and you think this is love.”

“Do you hear what you're saying? Who do you think I am? Sansa?” she almost yelled by now, “this is something special. I've never felt anything like it.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“But it does!”

“Would _you_ mind saying something?” Robb suddenly turned his head, now snapped at Theon, glared at him, for he said his next words without thinking.

“Don't have to, she's already said it all.”

He regretted it as soon as the words had left his lips, seeing the painful look in Robb's eyes, for it was him who should stand by him now, but his own wishes and worries too close to the surface. The consequence was felt a few seconds later when Robb's eyes narrowed, his jaws clenched.

“Fine,” he spat, “if that's what you want, then stay the fuck here. But I certainly won't leave everything I know behind, disappear like a coward and shirk my responsibilities without answering any questions.

Though one thing is certain,” his words now addressed to Arya, “somewhere here there is another you that will not get to know him if you stay, doomed to remain lonely and _unhappy_. And another him in our world who _actually_ belongs to you. But you're right, it's your choice. And I'm tired of trying to convince you both to do the right thing when you'd rather just do what suits you best. As – always.”

He sat back down, had gotten up in his outburst of frustration, now only exhausted and depressed, waiting for one of them to respond, with his shoulders sunken.

But silence spread, filling every space within the room, like the longing in Theon to get up, to comfort Robb filled his whole body. It could have occurred to him, that it was this what urged Robb to return. His duty, had it not always been the one thing to lead him in all his decisions? And how much did it mean that he had forgotten about it to be with Theon, even only for this short time.

He might have noticed if he hadn't been so focused on himself.

Then it was Arya who first opened her mouth, her voice soft and thin, sounding after all like the girl she still was, “but what if he is already dead in our world?”

“There's only one way to find out,” Robb replied, staring at her until she finally nodded.

And Theon heard her swallowing hard when she got up, left the room without another word, left them alone by themselves for the silence to come back.

He stared at him, the face buried in his hands, Robb looked defeated and Theon knew it was partly his fault. No joke could improve the mood, no smile could force itself on his face. It was those rare moments when Theon usually left the scene, took his bow, shot a few arrows, visited the brothel.

Moments when words of affection would be appropriate, but as unfamiliar in his mouth as a foreign language. Though he had to try now, for Robb. “I'm not letting you go alone, if that's what you're worried about.”

“That’s good to hear,” he replied without looking up.

Theon chewed on his cheek, took a deep breath. “So, what happens when we get back?” _What will become of us? _He wanted to ask instead but couldn’t.

Then Robb’s eyes met his and Theon knew that all his walls were down, for Robb to see all the fear in his eyes, that there was not even the hint of a smile on his lips, that this fear was the reason he’d avoided talking to him since they’d left the red priestess. Vulnerable again, he risked showing it.

Robb rose then, took two steps across the room and kneeled before him, took his hands in his.

Through what Theon felt the impulse to pull his hand away, to sneer at him that he was no maiden whose heart was aching and Robb had to rescue, but his grip was hard and firm, did not give him a chance to withdraw but just to look down at him, causing his breath to skip. And those blue eyes unlocked something he had so obsessively tried to keep closed, for his mouth now worked all by itself, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“What if we go back and it's all forgotten?”

“I’ll do _everything_ in my power to stop that from happening, I promise you,” Robb kissed his knuckles one by one. Took a deep breath himself and Theon noticed that there was another reason Robb held on to his hands so tight, to hide the trembling of his own, “because I am yours and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days. If you'll have me.”

Even if it hadn't sounded like a question, Robb's eyes spoke another language, uncertain of the reaction to his vows. There was no reason. Theon knew he was beaming at him, warm and pure, as he nodded slightly.

Because just like that, his fear was gone, wiped away by Robb's words, the romantic fool that he was, as it seemed they both were, when Theon leaned forward, put Robb's face in his hands, though he couldn’t help but smirk, this whole thing was way too sentimental, but still …

“Though, with this kiss, I pledge my love," he whispered against Robb’s lips, recalled the words he had last heard at Sansas' wedding, then pressed them together, far more gentle than he had every kissed one in his life before.

But really, he couldn't complain at all.

Because _this_ was all he ever wanted.

And more.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody, I'm so sorry we had such a long break!!!  
I already wrote this chapter back in March, but when it was time to post it, I became quite nervous. It's much more emotional, much angstier than the previous tone of the story and suddenly I didn't know anymore if this is really the way I wanted things to go, even if it was the plan right from the beginning.  
But after I re-read this fic again over the weekend I realized that this is exactly how it should be, how it makes sense, at least for me. So I really hope you are not disappointed.  
But I promise you, the next chapters will be much more fluffier and funnier and all our loved ones will get the ending they deserve, big BIG promise!! ❤️  
and now I wish you all a good time reading. :)

**GENDRY**

He'd never slept so damn well, dead to the world some might say, but peaceful and relaxed, feeling more rested now than in a very long time. Because he had forgotten how good it felt to sleep with a woman in his arms. He had forgotten how good it was to be in love.

Then someone shook his shoulder, whispered his name. Where he couldn't contain the smile that spread across his face as he realized whose voice it was, calling to him.

He stretched, yawned, and blinked several times before opening his eyes. Could not see her face at first, illuminated by the warm light shining through the window behind her. Just slowly her contours became clearer, the brown hair that fell in waves over her shoulder. She was still wearing his shirt, and this thought alone drove another wave of bliss through his body. Promising that maybe from now on he could wake up like this for the rest of his life.

But then he noticed her face and his smile became thinner, looking at him with so much worry in her eyes, almost desperate, and the queasy feeling that arose in his stomach was hard to avoid.

“What's wrong?” he asked even tough he knew she still didn't understand a word he'd say.

At which she just shook her head, lay down beside him again and buried her face in his chest. Clung to him with all her might, so he did the same, put his arms around her, holding her tight. Then she kissed him, and he kissed her, and he couldn't help but think that it felt like goodbye, so he kissed her even more. With so much passion and so much love, because he sensed it was important, even when he didn't know why.

Like this they lingered there beneath the sheets until at some point a knock came from the door and Robb's head appeared in the frame.

“_Arya_,” he said softly, his voice depressed as well and his eyes were dark rimmed, showed that he had hardly slept himself, “_it's time_.”

She didn't move at once, just sighed heavily beside him, but finally got up and got dressed. Still her eyes were sticking to him throughout the whole time, grey and sad. And then also her hand, her fingers firmly entangled with his, after he had also put on his clothes and they left the room.

Found then the other two sitting together on the couch, much closer than usual. For Robb's face was also kind of sad and defeated, but Theon looked unusually serious. Where the man had always worn a smug smile within the last few days, there was now nothing more to be seen than a thin line, his eyes hard and tired, his posture stiff and tense.

“_Let's get this over with_,” he just said as they reached them and stood up. Only then was Gendry able to notice that they had also held each other’s hand.

But still he couldn't understand it. Something was wrong here, something was completely wrong here and now more than ever he wished he could ask her, he could ask Arya to explain it to him, what had happened? Had she changed her mind? Had it anything to do with that woman? Last night everything had been fine. They'd been so happy, or not?

He knew there was no point in asking, so he kept quiet, left the apartment with them a short time later. His palm in hers still in an iron grip. Impossible to let go. Though anyway that was the last thing he wanted.

Remained clueless and confused until they had reached their destination. Then saw with shock that this was exactly what would be required of him, confirming his fears, when, half an hour later, they headed straight towards a red building with this odd fire symbol right above the door.

He stopped immediately, a sharp breath leaving his lips, “no.” Forcing Arya with an abrupt motion to halt as well. Where Theon and Robb took a few more steps and then glanced at him over their shoulder with eyes full of pity.

“_We'll be waiting inside_,” Robb sighed, as he opened the door.

Slowly Gendry turned his gaze on Arya. “No … please,” he begged her, because what else could he say, felt how he started to tremble, for now it was him holding her much too tightly, “you … you don't have to go, okay? Just, just fuck what she said. Stay, okay? Just stay.”

But she didn't understand him, of course she didn't.

So, he let go of her hand, rubbed his palm over his face, frustrated and helpless, and let out a loud growl of sheer desperation, followed by some violent curse, “fuck, fuck, fuck!” Tearing on his hair, he then walked back towards her, grabbed her by her shoulders, just as she had done it less than 48 hours ago, when they first met. Forced her to look at him again, as if he could use pure force to make her understand his words. “Just don't go, please.” He felt a lump in his throat. “Don't … okay?”

“_I'm sorry_,” she whispered back, stroked his hair with her fingers, much more tenderly than she had ever touched him before. But the gesture alone made it clear that she had already made up her decision.

He loosened his clutch and swallowed hard as he felt a heavy weight settling on his body, as she took his hand again and then pulled him behind her into the building.

The first thing he noticed when they entered the room was a strong sweetish smell, countless candles lighted the place, and a steaming kettle was boiling in one of the back corners. Right next to it, the red woman was standing, and she didn't give them a glance as they walked further ahead.

“It's better if you sit down,” she pointed out, whereupon Gendry heard a muffled snort right behind him and peered to the side.

From the corner of his eye he saw Theon standing on the wall besides the door, a steaming jug beside him on the windowsill, his arms crossed in front of his chest, still with a deep frown on his face. “_I prefer to stand, thank you very much_,” he replied sharply, followed by a small sigh, coming from one of the red armchairs.

“_Please, just do what she said_.”

Robb looked up at him, elbows resting on his knees, with that strained expression in his eyes. But whatever he had said, it seemed to work when Theon pushed himself off the wall and took the place next to him. Still sullen, but now Gendry could see that it was also fear he was trying to hide behind that stern gaze. The way he bit his lips, the way his knee wouldn't stop bouncing.

Then the woman finally turned around, another goblet in her hand, which she now held out to Arya. “There you are.”

Gendry felt in his arm as Arya flinched, even when she tried to keep a straight posture, and like the day before he stepped in front of her. Though this time she let him.

“That's no use,” the priestess replied gently, “she has to go.”

Foolish of her to think, he'd make it that easy for her. “Tell me why first.”

Because he needed to hear it. He needed an explanation for all this, or he would lose his mind right now, right here.

“Like I said, the light is fading –”

He had to interrupt her, “no, none of that nonsense. None of that time travel, flames or any kind. Tell me anything I can believe, or I'll take her home with me, _right_ _now_.”

Gendry knew that his gaze was full of hate on her, that he could pierce her with sheer willpower, and then heard a slight hiss besides him, realized that he had squeezed Arya's hand a bit too firmly. Though when he loosened it, tried to loosen his fingers, she was the one holding him tight.

Where the red woman continued to watch them both with a narrow smile, “so she didn't tell you?”

“Well, how _could_ she?” Gendry snapped back (what kind of stupid question was that?) but received no answer. So, then eventually to his previous one.

“There are more worlds than just this one Mr. Waters. This one is yours, but this one is not theirs, and an imbalance has arisen as a result, which must be corrected.”

“Then I'll go with her.” Only then did he detach his gaze, glancing back at Arya instead to make sure he made the right decision.

Though when she looked at him, when her gray eyes found his blue ones, still so full of affection, he knew for sure it was the right one. “One makes less the difference than three, so I'm going with her,” he added, also said it to encourage himself.

There the red woman stopped smiling. “This is no option. And definitely not a decision for you to make. Several souls of one core cannot exist in the same world. The Lord of Light intended these universes for a reason. You belong here to another soul. Just like she does.”

At that he paused. _Another soul? The same core? _“What does that mean? So there is ...” did he start, “does that mean there's another _me_ in her world? And another _her_ right here?”

“Exactly.”

He looked again at Arya to see if she knew. To read it in her eyes and see if that was the reason she finally agreed.

And there he found proof, the way she pressed her lips together, a gleaming hope shining in her eyes, the way she nodded slightly and squeezed his hand.

By this look, his heartbeat calmed down again, and some of the fear left his limbs. And he went with her to the couch and sat down next to her while the red woman placed the cup on the table in front of them without another word. Because there _was_ still some hope. They weren't completely lost as it seemed.

Even if it still hurt him like hell, even if it tore him apart to let her go. _There was still hope_. He had to keep telling himself to make sense of it. Because even if she left, she was still here, somewhere here, perhaps even spoke his language, belonged in his world, belonged to him.

“I will find you,” he whispered, stroking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. After which she leaned forward and kissed him again. Kissed him like a promise, like something that sealed a pact.

“_I won't stop looking for you_,” she breathed against his lips, kissed him once more and then again and again until the time finally came.

Gendry lifted his gaze at the other two, witnessing them empty their drinks in one go. Theon shaking with disgust, Robb placed his cup back on the table with a hard clink. Then their eyes met and Gendry felt like an intruder as he watched them. Their stare as desperate as he felt himself when Robb hesitated briefly and then leaned forward, buried his hand in Theon's hair and pressed their lips together.

Like another promise that only a kiss could keep.

Then he turned back to Arya. And the seconds felt like hours while she grabbed her own cup, slowly leading it to her mouth, letting it stay there. It was so obvious how much she struggled as well to overcome it. But then she too drank, knocking down the thick liquid with one gulp.

When she'd swallowed, she didn't wait another second. The cup fell from her fingers to the floor with a faint clang and rolled away, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers reaching for his hair. For Gendry could taste the sweetness on her lips as they touched his. He tried to ignore it.

Instead, he tried to soak up everything else around her. Her own smell, the feel of her skin on his, the way she held him, the way she pressed herself against him. There was still so much he wanted to tell her, words that had to leave his mouth before it was too late, even if their meaning would never reach her the way it was supposed to be.

He let it be. Kissed her instead like he had never kissed a woman before. Tender yet strong, with one hand on her neck, the other on her back to keep her close to him, to show her how much he wanted to hold on to her. With her heartbeat against his chest and his against hers.

Until her strength slowly waned, until her grip weakened, and her lips separated from his.

So carefully he laid her head on his shoulder, keeping his arms wrapped around her.

“I'll find you,” he breathed again, kissing her forehead, and let his lips dwell there. “I promise, I'll find you.”

His last words before she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**ROBB**

The first thing he noticed was the soft tickle of fur on his naked skin. It felt comfortable, familiar, and with his eyes still closed he let his hand run through the tiny hairs, again and again, a soft smile forming on his lips.

Like this, it took him longer than usual to wake up, as he blinked several times, tried to get used to the light coming from the rising sun through the thick curtains. Sighed slightly as another rush of warmth spread over his body.

When he looked around the room, he recognized Grey Wind on his usual place on the stones in front of the fireplace. His whole body stretched out, his size as huge as a grown man. It made him feel even more warmth, more familiarity. Robb whistled through his teeth and the wolf raised his head, where he couldn't help but grin, because he'd missed him more than he had known.

He slipped to the side, pulled the fur with him and tapped on the free spot on the bed with his palm, “come here boy.”

But Grey didn't seem overly excited to see him, flexing with relish, his backside in the air, his long legs still on the ground. Only after a long yawn did he finally tire himself and jumped to Robb on the bed for the feathers to bounce.

“Are you glad to see me?” he asked him, while a big head buried itself beneath Robb's ribs, letting his ears get scratched with a pleased sigh. “Sure, you are.” And by all gods, so was Robb. Relieved to be back … to be back.

_To be back!_

With a jerk he sat in bed bolt upright, his eyes wide open, mouth dropping. Because they had made it, didn't they? The last remains of sleep disappeared all of a sudden, now wide awake, Robb tried hard to focus.

_It had worked._

Pictures of the last days shot through his mind, the strange carriages, the infinitely high castles, the water that as if by magic had come out of a bent pipe from the wall in Gendry's house.

Gendry, Arya ... _Theon_.

He threw the furs aside, received a disapproving snort from Grey Wind at that, but he didn't pay any further attention, grabbed his breeches and a blouse instead. A bit too hastily, for his boots were on his feet only after he had already opened the door, stumbling out into the hall. Just managed to keep his balance and avoid falling.

Still, he didn't slow his steps, took two at a time as he went down the stairs until he was out in the open. A cold wind blew around his nose and snow was gathering around his shoes, his coat forgotten up in his bedchamber.

There was the usual morning bustle right in front of him. Hullen feeding the horses and Farlen, who chased the dogs across the yard. In the smithy he heard Mikken cursing and then the loud clang of metal, as a couple of women walked past him, loaded with heavy baskets full of laundry. They greeted him with friendly glances and Robb nodded back, continuing to search for any sign of something out of the ordinary.

_What had happened since they left, what day was today?_

“Jory!” Robb yelled (a little startled himself by the intensity of his voice), when he spotted the captain on the other side of the court, bow and quiver thrown over his shoulder. He moved closer, looking from left to right, felt a shiver run through his limbs as the chilly wind touched his skin.

“Robb, up so early?”

“Yeah, um, I have some work to do,” he stuttered, one hand running through his curls, already damp from the snow, “so um, odd question maybe, but … you know what day it is today?”

Jory started at him for what felt like a lifetime, but to Robb's chagrin he then burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Odd question indeed my lord,” he smirked, “mayhaps it's best for you to wake up first, before you do _all_ _your work_, he?” He patted his arm in a brotherly manner, walked away with a soft chuckle and so left Robb behind, freezing and still at a loss.

_Did it really work the way it was supposed to?_

Robb decided it was best to ask the Maester, even if it would bring him another such look and probably also some questions about his health. So he dragged his feet towards the Great Hall, slightly shaking, arms wrapped around his body.

Where, at the long oak table, he found his mother, Luwin and Rickon sitting at breakfast. There was no trace of his father, Jon or Bran. And neither of those present seemed much younger or older than Robb had left them two days ago. Like he'd never been away at all.

“Good morning,” he greeted them, kissing his mother on the temple, though lingering there a bit longer than he used to. And he also ruffled through Rickon's curls, so much like his own, with a little more pressure.

His brother knocked his hand away, still grinning at him, though not skeptical, not in the least confused. “You got a raven.”

“From the capital,” Catelyn added, her lips thin and her eyes solemn.

At which Robb paused and looked at Luwin. Where he saw another familiar and no less worried face, holding out a piece of parchment to him, one that Robb didn't take. Because somehow, he felt like he's seen it before … For he _had_ seen it before!

_It was _that_ day._

By no chance this was a coincidence. Fate had brought him back to _this_ moment exactly with a reason, didn't it? He smiled at them, warm and honest, and without even asking his question he turned on his heels, leaving them without another word just like he found them.

“Robb!” his mother called after him, and so did the Maester and Rickon, each of them with a different tone in their voice, strict, worried, amused. But he had received the information he needed, faster than expected, for he had no intention of dealing with this absurd matter. Not now. Mayhaps never.

_Now_ something else was way more important. _Someone_ else, to be precise.

With a heavy pressure in his chest and a buzzing in his head his steps were quick first but then he ran up the stairs to the Guest House. So fast, he almost collided with Ser Rodrik, making his morning rounds over the bridges. He apologized in his haste, moved on quickly, where the old man gave him a look of confusion that caused his large white whiskers to shake.

It wasn't until Robb finally spotted Theon's door, that he stopped in his tracks.

Stopped in front of it to collect his thoughts.

As he stood there, he felt every beat of his heart. In his chest, in his throat, in his fingertips. Sweat was forming on the palms of his hands and slightly trembling, he raised his hand and took a deep breath just before he knocked. Only one thing in his mind.

_Please make him remember._

It was a possibility that he didn't, even if it was small. Or that he still knew, but regretted it, only pretended nothing had happened, realizing that it was a mistake. There was nothing for Robb to check and yet he had to try. Hope still as present in his memory as the feeling of Theon's lips on his and their skin touching.

A kiss with a promise. He had to believe it.

The response took longer than expected. The sound of footsteps came closer, getting louder until the wood finally opened.

Robb couldn't help but arche his brows.

Because Theon looked like he just got up. Long black hair obviously tied back hastily, with bare feet, the laces of his breeches still open, revealing a small dark path leading from his navel into his pants. A path Robb followed with his eyes, as he felt heat rise in his cheeks and then cleared his throat to mask his obvious desire.

“Is … is this your usual way to open the door? What if it were my mother?”

“Then I'd give her a pretty sight, wouldn't I?” Theon smirked, arm stretched out, leaning against the oak wood frame. “And a good morning to you too. You want to come in?”

Robb nodded and chewed on his cheek while Theon stared at him from his dark pupils, as if he could read something in his face, a truth, a revelation. But it was just one of those things only be clarified by words. Still it took an eternity till Theon gave up, smile remaining on his lips, as he released his gaze and entered the room for Robb to follow.

As he took his place at the table by the window, he watched Theon put on his boots.

“Slept well?” he asked him, while his fingers pulled on the leather. Without looking up. Maybe Theon was nervous too, even though he hid it better.

“Seldom better,” Robb replied then, swallowing hard. His voice trembled slightly at his next words, hardly recognizable and yet there, “… as if I'd taken a sleeping potion.”

It may have seemed like a strange response but it had the desired effect. Theon stopped tying his left boot right in the middle, as he turned his head and raised his brows. “Is that so?” the corner of his mouth twitching, “me too, in fact.”

At which Robb utter a little snort, something that might have been close to a chuckle. Relief chased through his body, even if he couldn't yet be entirely certain.

Then, his boots now forgotten, Theon straightened up. “Though what about the wedding?”

_Thank gods he did remember._

Perhaps it was his look that made him brave, that gave him confidence, for where Robb offered him a lopsided grin, “which one?”

But nothing in this world could have prepared him for the expression that he was now facing. Watching him with excitement, as that smile spread across his lips, as his eyes turned warm and so full of affection.

Though Theon left him no time to admire him further, when he crossed the small space between them and pressed their mouths together hard. He buried his fingers in Robb's hair, as Robb placed his hands on his hips, half lying back on the table, half on top of each other.

And then they kissed like they'd never done it before. Not in despair, not in fear, but with joy and bliss, so that a slight laughter left both their lips, impossible to contain. But still kissing, still holding each other tight in their arms. Not even breathing was vital enough to break this up.

“Thank gods this was no dream.”

“I know,” Theon whispered, tracing his lip with his tongue, nipping slightly then diving right back into his mouth.

He had never felt like this before, so good, so loved, sighed in satisfaction, as he pushed himself forward to feel Theon's body even closer against his own. Then something hard pocked into his thigh. Where he stopped. And grinned.

At which Theon paused as well, leaning back to find his eyes. “What is it?” he breathed irritated.

Robb could do nothing but chuckle, little breathless himself. Because his head was spinning and his heart was too full. “You could stab me with this, you know?”

Theon blinked at him, a broad grin on his face, as he followed Robb's gaze as it turned downward. But then he uttered a grunt and rolled his eyes. Bent his body so that he could put one hand in the pocket of his trousers, right where their stares had lain a moment ago. “I'd actually feel pretty insulted if it wasn't so ridiculous.”

In the palm of his hand now lay a small red object, not even as big as the handle of a dagger. And when Theon let it slip through his fingers with skill, gently pressed against it, a tiny flame appeared before them with a soft click. 

For Robb's brows shot up, “how … when? Where the fuck did you hide that?”

“Do you really want to know?” Theon gave him a wink, took another step back and put it on the table next to his bed. He turned back at him with hungry eyes. “I could show you though?”

Not waiting for an answer, he opened the remaining laces of his breeches, reached into the waistband to pull them down. He held Robb's gaze the whole time, and by all gods old and new, if it would always be like this from now on, they would both be unable to walk in no time. Not a bad thought, and Robb bit his lip to suppress a moan.

Then suddenly the door burst open.

“Good, you're up,” Arya said, not even batting an eyelash at the sight of them. Barely more obvious with Theon's laces undone and Robb's hair at such a mess. But instead of making a comment, she took the two bags that she'd carried on her shoulders and threw them right at their feet.

He looked at her with big eyes while Theon more quickly regained his composure. “What the fuck? Don't you see we're just in the _middle_ of something?”

“Do I look like I care?”

She raised a hand before either of them was able to respond. “Save your breath, we have no time for that.” Then got one step closer. “First, I really thought about leaving without you, but then I remembered, you owe me, so you' re coming with me now. Pack your things.”

“Did I miss something?” Theon sneered at her, looking like she lost her mind. “Since when do I owe you anything?”

“You don't, but Robb does.”

Theon snapped his head and two pairs of eyes started at him, black and grey, both demanding, both full of expectation.

But in his sister's glance was something else too. Something he barely saw as she grew older, something he knew she'd rather cut off her hand than say it out loud. Something one might call a wish for help.

Why he finally nodded and pushed himself up with a smile. Ignoring Theon's complaining moan, because both knew well that Robb had made up his mind as he reached for one of the bags.

“So ...” he said, tossing it over his shoulder, “where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left, I can hardly believe it!! ❤️


	20. Chapter 20

**ARYA**

The blade shot through the air, dragging along a sharp hiss and with a pleased smile Arya saw the doll's head fall to the ground, rolling right in front of Theon's feet. A peek to the side showed her how he eyed it in slight annoyance, his foot itching to kick it away, though only just briefly. Both fully aware what an excellent throw it had been, but she knew if she waited for praise, she would wait in vain.

“Luck,” he sneered instead, even if his own grin had long since lost its typical smugness.

Shifting his stand, he put himself back in position, straightened his shoulders, eyes narrowed and his bottom lip between his teeth. Arya realized that his feet were placed too far apart, but she didn't comment (he'd find out soon enough.) She crossed her arms in front of her chest and watched again as he failed in spectacular fashion. Which was to be expected. Still she was even more delighted at the muffled cursing that followed.

Theon's own doll looked more like it got into a cage fight with a wild bear. Straw hung from all sorts of openings, one arm even almost severed, but not completely, all other parts of the body still firmly attached to the torso. It was an open display of his incompetence.

With hard steps he stamped forward and pulled his Arakh out of its chest, for Arya's smirk broadened, “like I told you before, without a bow you're screwed.”

“Oh, shut your mouth,” he snapped back, “it's just because you're cheating.”

“What? How am I supposed to be cheating?” Her smile vanished in one blow and returned back on Theon's very own face in less than a second. _Of course, the idiot was a sore loser_, she though bitter. Still it stirred her that he didn't grant her the victory. At least a little, he didn't have to like it though.

“Just admit I'm better,” she added, for he grinned some more.

“Yeah maybe, but only because you're a spoiled little girl whose father constantly gave her some expensive weapons to cope that she has no friends.”

“You don't have any friends of your own besides Robb!”

Theon clicked his tongue, “please, I have lots of friends.”

“Name one.”

But before he could answer they heard footsteps approaching. Where he threw her another smile, both knowing full well that she had lost yet another argument (she should really stop debating with him). Deep inside, however, she knew that she actually liked it, and Theon as well, so they found themselves at this day in day out in the same way again and again.

With a soft sigh she turned her head as well, the little left of her anger fading, as a smile spread on her lips at those coming closer.

They made a strange picture, these two men, broad-shouldered and bearded, with two huge wolves besides them almost as big as themselves. The small yard behind their house now seemed almost confining, even though they lived in one of the largest buildings within the whole city. Though Braavos was not exactly known for its spacious architecture, even on the outskirts.

So, tilting her head, she watched them with amusement.

And again, something warm and buzzing awoke in her chest at the picture, as she noticed Nymeria repeatedly thrusted her snout against Gendry's hand, encouraging him to stroke her head even while walking. The way she behaved around him, so familiar, always beside him, even while sleeping. It was something she had never seen within her wolf before, but also something she had never seen within herself either.

Yet it was there.

“What are you doing?” Robb asked as they reached them, the question really addressed to one person only.

For Arya took the chance to watch him more closely. How he looked so different from when they'd left home so many moons ago. His red curls now long enough that he had to tie them back like their father used to wear it. Sometimes she wondered, if he did it because he missed him so much, because he missed Winterfell so much or just 'cause he liked it best this way.

But right whenever these thoughts crossed her mind, she saw this expression in his blue eyes, and her worries dissolved. Bright and happy, almost beaming, reflecting the ease with which he carried himself through the day. Like he'd left all his burdens behind. And she knew it was Theon's doing. As much as he got on her nerves, she'd be forever grateful to him for making her brother feel like that.

As incomprehensible as it was.

“I think we're done here,” Theon answered, stroked Grey Wind behind his ears and then turned back to Robb. “You're hungry?”

“Well, I thought …” Robb's eyes flitted to Arya, then he lowered his voice, even she could still hear him perfectly clear. As so often she noticed the mischief in his voice and a matching grin on his lips. “Mayhaps before, I could show you something, you know … _up the stairs_.” He pointed upwards to indicate the direction, unable to contain his smirk and neither was Theon.

With a quick glance around they said their goodbyes and Arya couldn't help but roll her eyes, shaking her head slightly as she watched them enter the house with snicker and whispers. For the last thing she saw was her brother's smile and Theon's hand reaching for Robb's breeches. A sight at the same time amusing and disturbing.

Then the door fell shut.

“It's a miracle they can still walk,” Gendry snorted next to her ear and she lifted her eyes. Looked at him with a soft smile of her own.

She wanted to agree with him, but she let it be, once again, too impressed, for the true miracle was standing right beside her. Because she _could_ _understand_ _him_. Even if she had liked his voice right from the very first second, understanding what he was saying, that was really something else.

One might think she'd gotten used to it by now.

Mayhaps she would never.

The memory of their journey still too heavy in her mind, as fresh in her memory as the rain of the morning on the grasses behind the house. The way she had missed him, the impatience and even fear not to find him, relief when she had done so and then annoyance when he hadn't recognized her right away.

They had visited so many forges on their way along the kingsroad, that she'd been actually surprised when she had suddenly faced him. Deep down in Flea Bottom, between this maze of twisty, unpaved alleys and cross-streets, with the stench of winesinks and whorehouses in her nose. Covered with sweat and coal, he had dumped a bucket of water almost right at her feet.

Unable to say anything, she had stood there speechless with big eyes. One of the few moments when even Theon had swallowed up one of his witty remarks. For it had been Robb who saved her then. Announcing they were looking for a blacksmith able to craft a sword for his sister.

It'd been a simple question, still Gendry had been suspicious. He wouldn't have been him, if he hadn't felt that there was something odd about them, with the way she had looked at him, at least that's what he'd told her somewhat later. But eventually, he had agreed to them, invited them into the forge and led them to his master.

_All in all, a job is a job. And really, you meet a lot of fools around here if you look close enough,_ he had explained to her a few days later, _if I send them all away, I'd soon be sleeping in the gutter myself._

Until today she was more than grateful for this way of thinking.

And after she had overcome her first shock, it hadn't been that hard for her to appear less foolish. After all, they'd already known each other somehow. Back from the battle, even though he apparently didn't remember and then also ... well, of course he couldn't have known _that_. Still it hadn't taken her long to develop a strategy of her own, getting to her actual mission. Robb's idea the perfect groundwork.

Then day after day she had gone to the forge, had examined how he progressed with her sword. And at first annoyed, she quickly realized that he actually liked her company. The way he grinned at her sometimes, how that grin appeared more often, the more time they spent together.

The more they got to know each other. Where at some point, she had to accept, that this Gendry was mayhaps little different than the one she'd fallen in love with. He was more serious, his jokes sharper, the violence and injustice he'd experienced throughout his life had obviously left its mark. His work here much more demanding and harder.

They matched in a way that she and the other Gendry could never have.

Also, he was a much better fighter, he was less the romantic. It had taken him not days but weeks, the sword long finished, until he had finally kissed her.

“Arya?”

“Huh?” She blinked several times, realized that she drifted off again, that this was probably not the first time he had called to her.

He grinned, warm and full of affection. “What were you thinking about?”

_You_, she wanted to say, but pressed her lips together, let the flush creeping up her neck speak for its own. Then she noticed the bag on his shoulder, grateful for the opportunity to change the topic she pointed at it. “What you got there?”

His blue eyes sparkled, anticipation and excitement very close to the surface as he slowly placed the bag on the ground and carefully put the fabric aside. What he revealed then took her breath away. “How?” was everything she was able to say.

“I hope it is like you imagined?”

Her eyes flitted from him to the ground and up again, unbelievingly she reached out with one hand, then flinched when her skin came in touch with the cold metal. She had only told him about it, though perhaps more often than she was aware of it, but still, how had he managed to create it from pure imagination?

“May I try it?” she asked, her fingers twitching already, for sure he noticed.

“Please do,” he grinned, picked it up and put it in her arms, “though I'm still unsure if it works as it should.”

“Only one way to find out.”

And even if not, the feeling of the metal in her hands, though much heavier than the original in her memory, was enough to send a rush through her body, to make her beam all over her face.

He mastered his craft, beyond question, admirable how he had managed to form the steel in this way. Just now she was grateful again that Robb insisted on the property outside the city, with the wide-open spaces behind the house for the wolves to hunt and the small barn where Gendry could set up a forge.

She closed her eyes briefly, thought her way back to the meadow, conjured up the vase before her but even more so the way he had stood before her. Almost like an archer, she remembered.

Then, one eye opened again, the other squeezed shut, she pressed the steel stick to her cheek and aimed at the torso of her headless straw doll. Her whole body vibrated with the expectation of what was about to come. And Gendry's excitement, standing so beside her, flowed over to her in waves as well.

She stuck her finger in the hole at the end of the stick, felt the small metal rod giving way the more she pressed it. A little more. One deep breath.

It lasted not even a second and a big gaping hole appeared in the middle of the doll. A hole that they both stared at with open mouths.

“Wow,” they breathed, both at the same time. Though their mood quickly shifted back from being baffled to their previous anticipation. 

Eagerly Gendry pulled several metal drops out of his pockets and held them out to her in the palm of his hand. Her whole body was throbbing with joy as she reached for one. Only then did she realize that she didn't know where to place them, just as he obviously didn't know how to handle the thing properly.

Uncertain, yet far too happy, they both started to chuckle.

“I show you, then you show me?”

She nodded.

Taking the thing back, he grabbed the front end of the stick and pushed it down with a skilled movement. Where a narrow slit appeared into which he inserted one of the drops.

Though when he recognized her impressed face, he blushed a slight shade of pink, scratching his neck with his one free hand. “To be fair, I didn't come up with it all by myself. We found a book about it, Theon helped with the research, because reading is still a bit...”

His blush deepened and she saved him the rest of the explanation by crossing the little space between them, standing on her toes and kissing him.

Never in her life would she get enough of kissing him, feeling the perfection of his warm body against hers. But she knew, felt, that something else was on his mind. And she could not blame him.

“It's perfect,” she whispered against his lips, then took a step back so he could take her previous position himself.

And so, it happened that their roles were suddenly reversed.

With her behind him, though on tiptoe to reach his height, with _her_ chest against _his_ back, _her_ finger guiding _his_ hand. Still the same smell that surrounded her, sweat and coal and _him_. The same thrill of affection running through her veins, when she put her mouth on his damp neck, moving his hard body beneath her hands.

He gave a pleased moan, turning his head slightly so that their lips had no choice but to meet again.

And as he did so, he yanked the weapon aside without realizing. Deepening the kiss, he still pulled the trigger so that a sharp hiss passed them, cutting through air across the yard, followed by shattering glass, a scream and curses coming from one of the rooms up the stairs.

But at that moment Arya couldn't care less. She was too focused on his lips, the way they fit so perfectly together, his hand on her neck and the tingling that flowed through her body. Indeed, it was a miracle that he still made her feel that way after so many kisses.

A miracle for them to stand here, understanding each other, holding each other, with no end in sight.

And little did she know that somewhere in another universe, another Gendry Waters thought exactly the same, as he led his wife onto the dance floor, closing his arms around her, looking into her deep grey eyes.

As soft sounds started to fill the hall, when the best man took his place at the stage, ready to give his greatest hit, his very special gift for bride and groom.

_The Girl from another Time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drowned god, I can hardly believe it's finished, what a wild ride in a year full of madness! :)
> 
> Really, this story will forever have a very special place in my heart. It has accompanied me through so many special moments. Not only milestones as a writer but also in my life in general. Graduating from college, working full-time for the first time, then a pandemic and not working at all, then going back to work, in a world so full of uncertainty and completely changing. Like I said, it's a wild ride and will probably stay that way for a while. 
> 
> But still I'm so happy that all of you were here during this time, as silent readers or with your beautiful comments. Really, sharing this story with you was a wonderful experience that I'd never want to miss. A thousand thanks and lots of hugs ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and/or comments, if you liked it or if you got any suggestions.
> 
> And if that's your thing, come and say hello on [tumblr](https://evax3.tumblr.com/) :)


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